


The Double Life of Peter Parker

by CuriousNymph



Series: The Spider Chronicles [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Again - the beauty of romance folks, Books remain a good distraction from Peter Parker's face - a sequel novel by Michelle Jones, Cause I love that ship name, Danger, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Identity Issues, Michelle Jones is not to be trifled with, Mystery, Ned is still the ultimate best friend, Nerdiness, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Sidelong Glances, Spideychelle, Superheroes, Tags Are Fun, Teenage Dorks, Teenage Drama, well here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousNymph/pseuds/CuriousNymph
Summary: Peter Parker believes that life might go back to how it normally is - swinging about rooftops and handing in Math homework; Michelle Jones hopes that life will go back to how it used to be - before she had a major crush on Peter Parker.But life is not nearly so simple. So when Spidey swings by to help Michelle find her stolen bag, she becomes determined to uncover the webslinger's identity. And with said emerging crush seriously not letting up, what could possibly be worse than a crush on Spider-Man developing as well?Sometimes Michelle wishes her life was just normal for a change.





	1. Reppin' Queens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go - chapter one of this actually planned fic! Eleven chapters in all.
> 
> This chapter was seriously good fun to write - but Michelle's dialogue is hard because we've seen so little of her.
> 
> Please rectify this, Marvel.
> 
> For song recommendations, I have a few. Addicted to Progress by The Coronas, as a general theme for this fic; The City by Ed Sheeran, and Act My Age by Hoodie Allen. Also the first few tracks on the Spider-Man: Homecoming OST, like the Original theme and Academic Decommitment. 
> 
> I'm really looking forward to writing the rest of this- I don't know how long it'll take or how often I'll be updating it, but bare with and stay tuned!

 

If you asked Michelle Jones what she thought of Peter Parker, she would have three opinions to give you:

a) that he was an insufferable Loser who seemed to be permanently ditching everything in sight;

b) that he was so inherently ridiculous that it was actually painful to sit and watch him and

c) she was crushing on him so hard it was giving her a headache.

Michelle wasn’t sure how to decide to describe it – it had happened, and then it had never left.

Just like that.

Suddenly, Michelle had found herself sneaking glances at him as she read her book at the lunch table, 5 seats away, as he idly talked with Ned, a firm practitioner of hand-waving when he got particularly excited about the topic of interest.

She’d pushed it off as observant habit. That everybody she met and talked to were observed just as much as he was.

It was all lies. All of it.

She couldn’t even remember when it happened, or how. Or why, even. Because Michelle did not fall into crushes quite so easily as other people did.

‘Other people’ generally denoted people she’d rather avoid when it could be helped, but obviously, her hormones had decided that Peter Parker did not fall into that vicinity, so instead had went absolutely nuts about the poor guy. It was a craziness that Michelle had taken great pains to disguise.

It had started off small, to say the least. A casual glance over a book one day, as him and Ned continued to rave about the new Star Wars film that had come out. They’d always been animated talkers, constantly flapping their arms about as character development got more of a look-in than it probably needed, and even though she’d seen it millions of times before, something had changed.

Her eyes had scanned over the usual elements – half-eaten lunches, bags slung on the floor, hands slumped in chins as they listened to the other intently as their limbs flailed about. She’d actually _looked_ at him – his gelled hair, swept back neatly from his face. His wide smile, all teeth showing radiantly – one of those kids whose braces had done him more than a few favours. His checked shirt collar peeking up through a mid-blue sweater. The geekiness of it was undeniable – it was overtly so.

But in that moment – unfortunately exemplified by him casually running his hand through his hair, a seeming necessity for all teenage boys to do _every five seconds_ – had suddenly looked horrifyingly attractive, and Michelle’s brain had nosedived, head stuck back into her book, thoughts whirring.

_Where the heck did that come from?!_

From then on, things had not improved.

Everything he did had suddenly seemed attractive, from his gait – hands in pockets, unassuming and friendly – to his haircut, which hadn’t changed in ages, so why did she suddenly like it so much?

Michelle had tried denying it to herself multiple times.

_You’re a loner. By choice. You don’t need a crush. You don’t need a guy._

Her hormones had yet to comply with that statement.

She’d even tried _hating_ the guy. Telling herself he was dorky and childish and ridiculous. That he was actually two inches smaller than her. That he was way too much like a loser to even _be_ attractive.

But no – even that hadn’t worked.

She’d had to admit it to herself then.

She was officially crushing on Peter Parker, but that did _not_ mean that it had to go anywhere.

Actually, Michelle would have gone so far as to say it _wouldn’t_ go anywhere, because she was determined it wouldn’t. Full stop.

So far, that was working out OK. Ish.

As Homecoming had come and went, there had been a definite change in his behaviour. She’d noticed it almost immediately. Dropping from marching band and the robotics club. Then quitting Decathlon. It had all seemed a bit _too_ strange for it to just be a coincidence. No one lost interest _that_ quickly.

She’d had to claim those remarks as a casual observation as well.

 _She was not obsessed with him_.

That was still not working, mind. No matter what she told herself, but nevertheless, life had to move on, so Michelle decided that her crush on Peter Parker would not affect her daily life.

She would remain indifferent.

She would be cool about it. The artsy sophomore who didn’t give two hells about anyone or anything.

As the school day came to a close (again, Michelle pointedly avoiding Parker as much as she could avoid), slipping out alone wasn’t hard. It had become more of a staple for Parker or Leeds to accompany her, one usually missing. That one was usually Parker, because of course, he had to already act weirder than he already did.

The April sunshine was beautiful as it was, streaming down from clear skies, the trees still in bright, green bloom, as she took the 7 train home, crowded in amongst the dozens of others, trying to read her latest book one-handed, as she held onto the pole in front of her, each stop making her nearly break her hand trying to keep the book steady. She didn’t usually enjoy this route home, especially with so many people crowded in around her, but it wasn’t so bad. Books always proved a very useful distraction from the things she’d rather not dwell on.

Like, for instance, the stupidly cute face of her classmate.

Biting her lip, furiously, Michelle stared at the page in an effort to stop thinking about it.

Finding her stop, she departed the suffocating crowds on the train, only to dive into more of them as she headed towards the local library, the main city now in full sprawl before her. The skyscrapers of New York never ceased to amaze her, even though Queens wasn’t exactly small either. Although she’d lived here all her life, she supposed that it never ceased to amaze because it never seemed real in the first place.

The cars and the people; the exhaust fumes and the restaurants and the trees on the street; the colours and the sounds and the back alleyways you came to know. It was everything she wanted it to be.

And lately, with that Spider-Man now swinging about the place, it had just become a whole lot more interesting.

But she loved the city anyway – even if it wasn’t her actual home, she loved going to the heart of it. She loved being where the life was, even if she was generally introverted about it.

Walking down the pavement, glancing down at her book once to keep her page mentally marked, she only just looked up before someone swept past her, tugging her bag right off of her shoulder, dashing ahead to avoid giving her a look at their face.

“Hey! Miscreant! Give me my bag back!”

They had, however, long since gone, but that did not stop Michelle chasing after them.

She’d never been a sporty person really – always the book nerd who knew way more about the development of the English language than most. But that hadn’t meant she couldn’t run, or sprint, or jump, or throw a punch if she wanted to.

She had a temper, and was seriously stubborn, and sometimes, that was more than enough.

She made various attempts to vault the chairs that were scattered outside the cafes lined along the streets (who wanted to sip coffee by smoking traffic anyways?) but it mostly failed, tripping into them, so she abandoned that idea, instead just pushing through the throngs of people with considerable force, gaining more than a few curious looks as she kept the thief in her sights.

She looked strange of course – charging down the streets, her other book in hand, face set.

But to hell with it - damn him if he was stealing the money and three new novels stuffed into that satchel.

Books were not cheap, and Michelle was not rich, hence – Olympian Sprint through the streets of New York City.

She’d already passed the library she was hoping to stop at, but that didn’t matter.

She’d already lost him. In amongst the hiving crowds, he’d dipped into some alleyway and she’d lost sight of the bugger, and all she had to speak for her great attempt at following him was a thrumming ribcage as she heaved, realizing that her lungs felt ready to explode.

Turns out running and shoving people did a serious number on your breathing rate.

Hands on hips, she took a breath, lifting her head to look up at the sky.

Well. This wasn’t good.

Turning her head to the side, she wondered if she could maybe take some backalleys herself and catch up to him.

But that thought was quickly dismissed when a flash of red and blue caught her eye, dipping in behind a dumpster.

She knew those colours. By God, she’d seen them up close.

Charging down the alleyway (Michelle wasn’t good at subtle – didn’t ring so well with her whole scope on women being allowed to be loud and proud if they wanted to be), she had just about reached the dumpster when Spider-Man jumped out, looking about ready to vault up onto the nearest building, no doubt off to go swinging about Queens and the greater city in search of busting petty crime.

Instead, he fell on his butt.

He obviously looked shocked behind the mask – the eyes had widened considerably, staring up at her in mild concern.

“Heroic,” Michelle said, by way of introduction.

Sarcasm made up for subtle not being her thing.

He jumped to his feet again, standing rather awkwardly as he waved his hands about.

“Whoa, whoa! Miche- I mean, uh, what are you doing here, miss?”

Michelle blinked, still holding the book she’d been carrying the entire time. It was hardly the best time to be holding The Catcher in the Rye – but hey, she could flip it in people’s faces to try and invoke interest in good literature as she ran.

“Why are you lurking about in an alleyway?”

Spider-Man looked at her, clearly annoyed at the suggestion.

“I’m not lurking,”

“Mmmhmm,” Michelle said, also showing she clearly didn’t believe him. He continued to stand there, shifting his foot, before waving at her once.

“Well, I got to, uh – you know, save people, so I’m going,”

He made to shoot the first web of his ascent, but Michelle, an idea catching fire in her head, made to step in front of him.

“Hey, wait, where you going?”

He turned to look round at her, hand still poised to shoot.

“Up?” He tried, humorous tones denoting an attempt to try and defuse her curiosity.

It did the opposite.

“Uh, yeah sure; whatever. I need your help anyways,”

He pointed at his chest, voice pitching higher than usual.

“Me?”

Michelle squinted at him, furrowing her brow, more and more confused. That voice sounded so familiar somehow. The intonation, the pitch, the way he asked questions – the way he tried to crack jokes. There was something about it…

Michelle scratched it. She had a bag to find.

“Yeah - you. My bag got stolen, so – kinda want it back,”

He squinted at her, pausing for a moment. It still weirded her out a little – how unreal he looked. Not ‘unreal’ as in _cool_ ; ‘unreal’ as in _couldn’t-be-possible_. He seemed too otherworldly – like he didn’t fit into the background somehow. Like when you could tell a presenter was standing in front of a green screen. The suit was obviously a distraction– red and blue, webbed throughout, with the big eyes and the lack of mouth. It made him less of a person, more of a symbol – maybe that’s why she was finding it harder to place a name to the voice she’d heard, like when you heard an actor’s voice and the name seemed to escape you.

She didn’t much like it when answers evaded her – she enjoyed the finding out too much.

Anyways. Bag.

“Oh. Right. Uh yeah – sure! I can find that,” He made to move off to shoot the web again, but Michelle pulled him back.

“Hey, whoa – you don’t even know what it looks like.”

“Sure I do,”

“How exactly is that?” She couldn’t keep the dry tone from her voice.

“Uh, well -” He seemed to realize too late that what he’d just said was impossible. How could he know what her bag looked like?

_Damn, where had she heard that voice before?_

“I just assumed it was a purse –thing,”

 _Oh nice recovery, dude,_ Michelle thought to herself, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

“Do I look like the kind of person who would carry a purse?”

“Uh – perhaps not,”

“Yeah, ‘perhaps not’. C’mon – go fetch,”

“I’m not a dog!”

“Whatever. I’d like to get to the library before dinner, so like – can you just speed up the process real quick?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, alright. You uh – go scout around for it,”

Michelle raised her other eyebrow in protest.

“I just ran nearly 4 blocks – that’s enough exercise today,”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Man, that eye mechanism was weird.

“Seriously, dude?” He shot the web to the nearest wall, zipping up in an instant, clambering to the top with an agility she’d seen pushed to its limits way back at the Washington Monument.

“Where abouts did they head?”

She paused. She’d lost them through the crowds just up ahead from this alleyway, once you went back to the main street. Doubtful that they’d still be hanging around there.

“Try the next few blocks. You might need to swing back around though so – see ya,”

“See you where?” he asked as she headed back onto the main street, book hanging loosely in her hand. She turned to look up at the building behind, wrapping one arm across her front, the other dangling the book in mid-air.

“When you swing around,” She left the alleyway, leaving Spidey to stare at her retreating back, as she turned right and disappeared behind the wall.

 _Sure is a strange one_ , he thought, as he vaulted to the next building, now in search of Michelle’s bag.

˟               ˟               ˟

Michelle continued to wander about in the same area, mind gnawing away at the idea that her books could be gone forever. She’d feigned cool indifference with Spider-Man the same way she did with everybody – a severe lack of interest portrayed by little facial movement – but there was always a story underneath.

Her books held an unknown yet sacred value to her – the first thing she’d think to rescue in the event of a fire. Even at fire drills in school, she’d always take her book with her, even if it wasn’t an actual fire. _That’s_ how much they meant to her.

She continued to stroll, observing as she saw her current investigator zip about the place on his web, in search of the missing article. Even if she feigned disinterest in him as well (as she did many other things), she couldn’t help but be amazed by his abilities. His strength, his agility, his speed. She couldn’t imagine what kind of person would have such awesome powers (awesome in the sense of huge, not cool – she wasn’t a fan of that overuse of the word) so haphazardly chucked at them. Had he been born with them? Was it an accident? Had he been experimenting or something? Was it all a happy mistake?

Who knew what the consequences of it were. He was as much of a mystery as she was.

She watched as he came swinging down to meet her, landing precariously atop a lamppost, hands in front of him like a dog. Huh.

“Well?” She made it sound as intimidating as she could manage.

“I didn’t manage to find it,” he made it sound like a child apologizing to their mother for being out too late.

“Look again,”

“Miss, it’s not that easy! I gotta a whole -” he abruptly cut short as shouts were heard from their left, both their heads swinging round to catch sight of a 20-something man darting out from a shop, clearly stealing something.

Spider-Man jerked with his thumb to the incident.

“Look, I gotta go – there’s other stuff –“

“Hey, whoa – you’re not just leaving me here,” Michelle pointed to the ground, face stern.

“I lost my bag, Spider-Butt –“

“Spider-Butt? _That’s_ what you’re calling me?!”

She shook her head vigourously.

“You told me you’d find it,”

However, he’d already poised his hand again to shoot into the action.

“Look, I’ll come back, OK? I – I promise, just – stay here, alright? I’ll be back in a sec!”

He swung off, leaving her once again stranded in the street, growing more agitated by the minute.

So much for a superhero.

 

˟               ˟               ˟

As Spider-Man swung into action, Peter had several thoughts on his mind as he swerved around the city, leaping and vaulting from building to building as he caught up with the shop-lifter. He hadn’t thought that Michelle might come to him for help – certainly not so plaintively. In fact, he’d been sure she only tolerated him because she had to.

But then again – he had to keep telling himself this – most people didn’t put two and two together, and figure out that he and Spider-Man were one in the same.

They probably thought he was just a lame dork anyways, not a crime – fighting superhero.

Well. Crime – fighting superhero in spandex.

 _Besides the point_ , he thought, as he landed in front of the thief, who skidded to a halt, clearly freaked by how quickly he’d caught up.

“Hey, can you answer a quick question for me?” He shot a web straight into his face, making him drop the phone he’d swiped in the store. He stumbled to the ground, just as Peter flicked the phone up into his hand by way of another web.

“Why’d you steal things you can’t use? I mean – it’s not like this’ll work without a SIM card and stuff –“

The man tried to yell something at him, but he just ignored it.

“Look, I gotta get back to someone else, so just stay there, OK? Thanks, buddy!” He webbed the phone to the pavement, giving a quick wave to the bystanders – “Someone call the cops? Thanks!!” – before swinging off again, now headed back to MJ.

He’d gotten fond of her nickname – sort of like an initiation into the mystery that was Michelle Jones. She’d been a loner, and a bookworm, and all kinds of strange – but she’d been like him. He’d known that. Even if she was hard to understand, or straight up blunt, she took a pride in who she was and couldn’t give two shits about what people thought about her.

As he swung round to meet her, he could see the bland, unimpressed look on her face, but all it did was make him smile.

He felt like he was finally getting to know her.

˟               ˟               ˟

Landing right down in front of her, Michelle got the acute sense that he’d been extra quick about that particular bust, namely because he was probably super wary of getting on her bad side. Few had yet the pleasure to turn that stone.

“I’m back!”

“Obviously.”

“Soooo – your bag, right?” he pointed finger guns at her. She blinked once, raising an eyebrow, squinting. The classic combo.

“Yeah. Our first assignment, before you went off to bust other people for their crappy crimes,”

“I’ll need a description,”

“Just take me with you, dumbass,”

He seemed a little offended by that – it was hard to tell. The eyes could only say so much.

“What – like, to the rooftops? I dunno -”

“Look, I need my bag - you need to keep doing what you’re doing – I dunno what that is exactly; so, just take me with you, we’ll get this sorted, I say bye,”

“You’re very blunt for a girl, you know,”

“If you want to dig your grave, be my guest,”

He backed up instantly.

“I didn’t mean -”

“Whatever, Spider-Butt, just find my bag,”

As he took her by the waist – highly uncomfortable, Michelle thought, but surprisingly secure – he griped, “I so wish you wouldn’t call me that,”

As they swung, jumping from building to building, Michelle felt an exhilaration she’d never really felt before. Something like raging intrigue and pure adrenaline banged together in a bowl and whisked violently. It was everything at once, and it was pretty amazing too (she was inclined to use this overused word on this occasion).

They finally caught the guy – rifling through her bag, dumping the books on the pavement, as they dropped to the ground. They were in another backstreet (some fetish, Michelle mused – _gross_ ), as grimy and uncared for as the last. It smelled like garbage, it looked like garbage, and the man who’d stolen her bag didn’t half fit in either.

Jumping down in front of him, Spider-Man stepped in front of her.

“Hey, is that yours? I didn’t know you were into – uh -” Spider-Man tilted his head, reading the topmost title of the pile of dumped books.

“Bleak House?” He turned to Michelle, who was standing with her arms folded, peering curiously past him to see how much of her bag had been rifled through. She was _not_ down with people rummaging through her stuff, books and all.

“You seriously read this stuff?” Spidey’s comment was interrupted as the guy threw a punch, Spider-Man dodging his fist with a reflex agility. The guy stared in alarm.

“I knew it! You didn’t look the bookish type – man, what a waste of time, dude,”

He’d him webbed to the wall in seconds.

Bending down to retrieve her bag and books, Spider-Man approached her again, tentatively handing them to her.

“One bag safely returned. If there’s anything missing – I can pay for that. Uh – so, we good? Cause I got other people to be helping – you know, reppin’ Queens and all,”

Michelle just stared at him, slowly taking her books back as she squinted at him. He was a lot more awkward than she remembered in Washington.

“Yeah, thanks.”

There was a second of silence.

“Yeah, can you just go already?”

He snapped back into life, waving his hands noncommittally.

“Oh, yeah sure! No worries! And uh – have a nice day!” He webbed up to the nearest wall, just as Michelle called out,

“Yeah, you too, Spider-Butt,”

He was gone within an instant.

˟               ˟               ˟

The next day at school, Michelle spent the majority of the day trying to once again avoid Parker, on the off chance that she might get more infatuated.

She was still determined that no such thing was happening – ever. But you know – hormones were nothing if not predictable.

One glance of that goofy smile or curly hair and she’d be right back where she’d started.

Lunch was worse – she still sat near both him and Ned, and they kept glancing at her, perhaps curious if she’d make the move to come and sit _with_ them, not five seats away. However, if she was to perfect the whole ‘I-still-think-you’re-losers’ image up, sitting with them would be a sure-fire way to sabotage that plan.

Michelle Jones was very, very stubborn about a lot of things.

As English rolled into the last slot of the day, Michelle seated right at the very back, her stack of books able to block out the figure of the teacher if she slumped low enough, could spot Parker two seats in front of her, Ned on his right. It was giving her an excellent vantage point of his shoulder blades, the muscles of his back contracting as he brought his shoulders together, staring up at the ceiling aimlessly. Perhaps she hadn’t _planned_ on staring at his back but hey – if there was a sight worth seeing, she wasn’t going criticize.

She seized up as she realized what she’d actually just thought.

Cringing inwardly, she dipped her head, just as she saw Parker lean back in his chair, turning around in her direction. She got hit with another wave of warmth, as she caught sight of his curly hair (more tamed than usual), his checked shirt and yet another cotton sweater, today in dark navy, tight around his arms.

_Hmmmm._

She really needed to stop thinking about this.

“MJ,” he hissed, as the teacher’s back was turned. Michelle scowled at him, clearly trying her best to look irritated with him. She could see it was working, as he raised an eyebrow, mouthing ‘what?’ back at her. She shrugged, scribbling her pen in illogical swirls in the corner of the margin. It meant not having to stare at his face, which was probably good. She didn’t need him figuring out she thought he was attractive.

“Hey – I heard you got your bag stolen. You OK?”

Her head snapped up, narrowing her eyes considerably as she leant forward.

“You stalking me, Parker?”

His face froze, before the panic slipped in. It made him look like a rabbit caught in the headlights, brown eyes wide.

She kind of liked how he was intimidated by her. It meant she could keep her distance.

“What? No!” he hissed back, closing his eyes briefly in astonishment that she perhaps even thought that.

“Why would I do that?” He paused, looking more panicked by the minute. Michelle struggled not to smirk at his discomfort.

“I mean – why would anyone? It’s creepy, man,”

“Not a far cry from you, Parker,”

He pursed his lips at that remark, breathing in once, taking a glance back at the front to make sure Mr Richards still wasn’t looking.

“I was just trying to be nice! Seriously – are you OK?”

Michelle opened her mouth to answer, but Mr Richards took that opportunity to turn around, ready to address the class again, only to see Peter turned around in his chair.

He sighed once. “Peter Parker! Are you even listening back there?”

Peter scrambled round in his chair, looking about as guilty and innocent as one could simultaneously – i.e. not very well.

His face said innocent; his body language said guilty.

Michelle thought they both said cute.

She rolled her eyes to herself, snapping out of yet another daze.

This really, _really_ had to stop.

“Uh – yep! Sorry sir,” He smiled apologetically, making one last attempt to turn around to Michelle.

He mouthed,

 _You OK?_ another time, so Michelle did the best thing she could think of.

Flipping him a salutary middle finger, smirking, she stuck her head into Bleak House, trying to forcibly forget how sincere he’d looked.

She took one last glance.

He’d turned around again, but his shoulders were more slumped than usual.

Michelle frowned.

Why’d he care so much anyway?

 


	2. Youngster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I've had with both the prequel and this new fic has been absolutely phenomenal - I'm astounded by the enthusiasm! I'm determined that this fic be as good as it can, so updates will only be as regular as I can make them with the time I have. 
> 
> Song recommendations again! Perhaps The Underdog by Spoon, One Thing Leads to Another by The Fixx, Start! by The Jam, and A Summer Chill by This Is Ivy League. 
> 
> Some of you may have noticed the comments about Americanisms and whether or not it ought to be corrected in the previous chapter. After asking a friend, they made the point that if there were an American character in a play, you would have them talk using an American accent, in order to add authenticity. 
> 
> Following this line of thinking, I've decided that I will try to be more careful about that in the future. However, I would ask that if you do spot any discrepancies, don't let it mar your experience of the story! 
> 
> Anyway, with that now cleared up, enjoy this next chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it.

 

That Saturday, Michelle sat on her bed, window open as the sounds of the city filtered in. It was 10 in the morning, the April sun still as bright as ever, shining in through her window and lighting the pages of her latest book, _The Moon and the Sixpence_ , in a soft glow, cup of coffee in hand. It was a typical weekend for her – devoid of people, overflowing with literature.

Michelle had always made a point of being a loner, head shoved into a book to throw out many signals, always pertaining to: ‘Busy; reading’. It usually worked.

In the case of lunch at school, not so much.

Parker the loser and his loser friend Leeds didn’t seem to understand that. They always asked her about her opinion on whatever thing they’d preceded to discuss (usually Star Wars – again, _she was just being observant_ ). They asked last week what she thought of the original ones – they couldn’t agree which were the more entertaining film sequence.

Michelle had pointedly told them that the newer ones, because if the older ones had been directed today, there would have been way more diversity.

Ned had frowned, like a confused puppy.

Peter had widened his eyes, quirking an eyebrow. He’d almost looked cute.

 _Almost_.

Michelle sniffed, trying to concentrate on the words in front of her. The hell if she needed him invading her thoughts again, after she’d been so diligent as to forget about him since Friday afternoon.

She’d still been confused by the bag incident on Thursday. It had been unnerving to be stolen from, sure, but the interaction with the famed webslinger was causing her more migraines that anything else.

She flopped back against the wall her bed sat against, being careful not to let her coffee spill, book open on top of her crossed legs. She was still in her pyjamas – large, grey and white checkered nightshirt -, barefoot and hair a messy pile of curls on her head. It was easy to understand why anyone would be surprised about meeting Spider-Man – least of all _behind a_ _dumpster_ – but there had been something so unnervingly familiar about him that it had seemed almost ridiculous to think about. She’d spent a day or so trying to place the voice, the body language; anything that could have seemed so familiar to her.

It had been the voice. She was sure of it. More high-pitched than she’d have thought, and the wild, quick way he talked like he was constantly nervous. She knew about his tell-tale humour – easy quips that threw off the person fighting him.

But he’d acted like a youngster. Like a free-wheeling kid high on helium.

 _Super weird for a superhero_ , she thought, taking a tentative sip of her coffee. It had cooled slightly.

She didn’t mind him so much. He seemed like a genuine guy. Very open and honest about what he did for people. Certainly not in it for the glory or the fame.

He was a mystery, really. Much like herself. Although, unlike her, he was one people actually wanted to solve for a change.

She turned back to her book, listening once again to the cars and the talk she could hear from her window. Living in an apartment afforded a great view of the city, and made her feel like a keen watcher of the people below.

Again with the observant streak in her.

But if there was one thing she was sure about, it was this:

She was going to figure out why the hell Spider-Man had seemed so familiar.

She was going to unmask the masked.

˟               ˟               ˟

Monday swung by again, and Peter Parker and Ned Leeds were off to the first class of the day – Chemistry.

Peter had been having some serious thoughts about the previous incident with MJ – he had not been expecting her, he had not been expecting _that_ , and that nickname –

Like, who even came up with that? Spider-Butt, his own one. 

“It’s kinda funny, you got to admit,” Ned laughed, as the both of them walked through the corridor, on their way to class. Peter was looking as geeky as always – a pair of jeans, sneakers and thick sweater on, emblazoned with the NASA logo, coloured a bright blue. He’d thrown it together after a late wake up call, May rushing him out of the house with a slice of toast lest he miss the train.

His hair was a mess, though. Usually having slightly wavy hair meant he could tame it well enough, but because of said rushing out of the house, it was sitting unkempt on top of his head, waves in full view.

“Ned, it was absolutely not funny,”

“Yes, it was,” Ned countered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Only Michelle would call you something like that,”

“Only Michelle would be that cruel,” he muttered, but Ned didn’t hear.

“I still think we should tell everyone,”

Peter whipped his head round to look at him, one stray lock falling into his eyes. He hastily brushed it away.

“What? No! I told you, dude – no-go area, alright?”

Ned looked severely disappointed, despite this being at least the fifth time they’d had this conversation. The excitement of having Spider-Man as his best friend had clearly not worn off enough for him to just leave it alone.

“Peter – you swing from rooftops, saving everyone’s lives –”

“I think 'lives' is a bit heavy, Ned –”

“No, it’s not – you should be thanked for that!” He made his hands into the position, pretending for a moment that he too could shoot webs from his wrists. Peter sighed, smiling thinly. Ned was more excitable than even he was – which was saying something.

“Thanked for what?”

Peter yelped, spinning around to come face to face with Michelle. Today, she’d dressed in black jeans, a burn-out, plain white t-shirt, and her classic black jacket, hands shoved in its pockets with her shoulder-bag hanging off her shoulder. She looked about as threatening as she always did – a slight tilt to her chin and a squint in her eyes that commanded presence. This was Michelle, captain of the Decathlon team, determined to find out everything that didn’t have an answer.

“Seriously, MJ, if you’re gonna join the conversation, at least warn us!” He exclaimed, as he shuffled his feet, combing a hand through his hair subconsciously.

Michelle stared at him, narrowing her eyes. Her hair was like a bird’s next – curls like vines spiralling out of control, the golden tan of her skin glowing with sun coming in through the windows, somewhere along the corridor. She never made any particular fuss over her appearance – never any makeup, or fancy clothes. She was just herself. What you saw was what you got.

Peter liked that about her. She was too blunt and honest to try being anything different.

Liz had been beautiful and smart and caring. So open and kind.

Michelle was sharp and witty and sceptical and literary.

But there was some strange, obscure beauty about her that was actually very beautiful from the beginning. You could only see it if you made the effort to.

Peter could see it, which surprised him.

He shook the thought away.

“Why? That’s boring,” she quipped, frowning, as she flipped away the curls from her face.

Peter squinted in disbelief, as they began to walk again, Michelle now trailing beside them. It was common for her to now walk with them to class. Him and Ned couldn’t figure out if it was because she was trying to get dirt on them, or just genuinely wanted to hang out with them. They severely hoped it was option two.

“Boring has nothing to do with it!” Peter exclaimed, waving his hands about like he usually did, but Michelle just shrugged in response. She wasn’t in the mood for Peter’s antics today.

She’d been trying desperately to ignore his hair, which was far from the tamed style he usually came in with. 

“You dragged through a hedge, Parker? Your hair’s a mess,”

Peter blinked back at her, reaching up to smooth his hair down. It didn’t work – the waves were permanent, thick and abundant, and very much untameable. Michelle couldn’t work out if it looked better on him than his preferred look.

She furiously ignored the thought.

_Get it together, geez._

“Uh – woke up late this morning,” he laughed, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“Huh. Should’ve known your time-keeping would be crap,” she mused, as they slipped into the classroom, taking their seats. Peter looked at her, Ned too busy taking out his books to notice.

“My time-keeping is fine!” he hissed, but Michelle just smirked, a curious quirk of her lips that made him purse his lips at her.

“You’re a walking crisis, Parker,”

“Whatever, man,” he replied, taking his seat by Ned, Michelle behind him. She looked down at her own books, smiling slightly.

It didn’t matter how many times she did it, but teasing him always put a smile on her face.

She pretended to herself that she had no idea why.

˟               ˟               ˟

After school, the Decathlon team met up in the assembly hall, as usual, ready to run through another hour long practice.

Peter was currently up on the stage, seated beside Cindy, a sassy individual whose mind was a sharp as a knife.

“Parker! You even listening?” Michelle barked, snapping him out of his daydream. The clock had been ticking by at the slowest pace, as it often did when you wanted it to go faster. Michelle had an eyebrow raised (seriously, was that the only expression she had?), question cards hanging from her hand as she crossed her arms.

“Uh, yeah, still listening,”

“You better be,”

“Look, I’m practically dying back here,” Flash moaned from her right, seated in a chair on the hall floor, phone in hand. He’d been currently out of the loop for questions, but Peter figured that was because Michelle wasn’t in a patient enough mind-set to deal with him.

“Feel free to do so,” Michelle snapped, reading out the next question.

This continued for another twenty minutes, before she called a half hour break. Peter, slumping back in his seat, was prepared to rest his eyes for a minute, before Seymour, from the other table on the stage, asked,

“Did you guys see the kid Spider-Man saved at the weekend?”

“Just because you’re crushing on him doesn’t mean we all are, Seymour,” Michelle smirked, but the other boy didn’t flinch.

“So what if I am? That’d be so cool to be saved by him,”

“The person was _kidnapped_ though,” Cindy piped up, as Peter continued to watch the conversation. He wasn’t sure he could string together a coherent sentence if someone asked him what _he_ thought about it.

 _It was super bad, is what it was,_ he mused, just as Abe replied,

“Yeah, so he saved him. That’s pretty neat,”

“Is there nothing else you people can think about?” Michelle groaned, but Seymour, pushing his glasses up his nose fretfully, was in no mood to stop.

“No. Why would I want to, anyway?”

“Again with the ‘your crush is irrelevant’ theme, O’Reilly,”

Seymour made a face at her, but instead of returning to the questions, she turned to Peter, eyebrow still raised.

“What do you think of him, Parker?”

Peter froze, eyes widening. If Michelle could get any more shrewd, he’d be found out by next week. And with Ned currently not at practice, due to a visit from his older sister, he was left to deal with this on his own.

He opted for the dumb approach.

“Uh – what?”

Michelle’s stare went blank, face passive.

“I think he’s kinda dreamy,” Cindy sighed, making Peter turn to look at her, a blush creeping up onto his face. Even Cindy thought so? Huh.

“Of course you would,” Flash snorted, but Cindy shot back.

“Well, I don’t see _you_ showing any admiration that time you nearly died if he hadn’t been there at Washington,”

Flash scowled back up at her, but turned back to his phone. Clearly, he felt out of place in this conversation.

“Hey – didn’t you run into him, MJ?” Abe asked, leaning forward in his chair, gaze curious. Abe was pretty laidback at the best of times, but he seemed unusually keen at the moment. He'd overheard Peter asking her if she'd been OK that day, and had since been curious to know the exact details. 

“Oh, you have a boy-crush too, Brown?”

“Very funny,”

Michelle shrugged noncommittally, neither indicating yes or no. That was one of the funny things about Michelle. It didn’t matter if she was best friends with you or just a casual acquaintance – she wouldn’t tell you something unless she wanted to.

“We were in the same place, yeah.”

Cindy leaned forward now, as Seymour piped up again.

“What’d you say to him?!”

Michelle frowned.

“This is academic Decathlon practice, not an interview,”

No one seemed to care, as they all sat looking at her, Peter included. It was hard to believe how easily she had clammed up at the mention of the incident. As far as he could remember, she’d been fairly chill around him as Spider-Man. Or maybe he’d been too hyper to remember it correctly. It’d been known to happen.

Michelle let loose a sarcastic groan, clearly not thrilled with so much attention being put on her.

“I got my bag stolen. He got it back for me. I called him Spider-Butt. Absolutely thrilling. I couldn’t believe it. Can we please get back to the questions already?”

Seymour looked personally hurt by the deadpan statement.

“Why’d you call him that?!”

“Because he deserved it, kiddo, that’s why,”

“He has got a pretty cute butt, actually,” Cindy mused, making Peter’s blush darken, and Michelle roll her eyes.

“OK, enough! Practice!”

Michelle turned to Peter’s table, his cheeks glowing red at Cindy’s comment. He sneaked a glance at her, but she wasn’t paying attention. He was struck by the thought that she had no idea it was _his_ butt she was commenting on.

But then again, he figured she’d rather _not_ know that.

Lately, he’d been thinking most people’s ideas about him (and fantasies) would probably shatter when they realized it was a nerdy teenager swooping in and saving their own behinds.

“You got a fever up there, Parker? Because if so, scram. I am not having you vomit on the stage,”

Michelle still had her arms crossed, staring at him with a certain amount of annoyance. His cheeks had yet to cool down, but he stuttered out a ‘yes!’ as clearly as he could manage. Even as Michelle snapped back to the questions, Cindy turned to look at him, concern in her gaze.

“You alright, Peter?”

He turned to look at her, as she tucked a strand of her long, black hair behind her ear.

“Uh – yeah! Fine!”

He was absolutely _not_ fine, but no one had to know that.

˟               ˟               ˟

As Michelle once again made her way home, bag swinging against her thigh, the sun bathing her face, she couldn’t help but remember Parker’s face when Spider-Man had been brought up. Cindy had been more than vocal about attractive she thought the webslinger was, and Parker had looked like a beetroot ready to explode sitting beside her, rather silent despite the ongoing conversation.

She sighed.

She couldn’t exactly claim to be so indifferent to the whole affair - she was having issues in the romance department herself, crushing on Parker like there was no tomorrow, even though her constant teasing was suggesting the complete opposite. She supposed she’d gotten so good at hiding it that it had become ridiculous for anyone to suggest her having a _thing_ for somebody.

Which was what it was. A thing. Something she couldn’t define exactly, because it made no sense, and she didn’t much like that.

Opening the door to her apartment, she slipped inside, going up the elevator until she reached her floor, getting out and making her way to their flat, opening the door lazily.

She wondered briefly if it was too easy to just dismiss everything he did and hope it just went away. So far, she’d come to the conclusion that things like this didn’t exactly go away, even if you wanted to sacrifice limbs for it.

Her mom swept past as she came in, brushing a kiss on her cheek.

“Hi, MJ. How was school?”

“Same as always, mom.”

Her mom laughed back at her, smile kind.

“Awk, sweetie – it can’t be that bland, surely? You’ve got friends, right?”

Michelle smiled slightly. It gave her a little rush to admit that, yes, those persons did in fact exist.

“Yeah,”

“Any boys? Or girls, depending how you feel,”

“No, no boys, mom.”

Also a whopping great lie, but Michelle didn’t think she could bear the embarrassment.

“I’m going to make a coffee, and go do some homework. I’m snowed under at the minute,”

“Sure thing, honey. Just remember to take breaks, OK?”

Michelle nodded once, making her coffee in silence, before slipping into her room, the mug warming her hands. If anything, coffee gave her comfort from her roaring emotions, desperately trying to break through the emotional barriers she’d put up for years.

Maybe she needed some air.

Her room had a wide window, that she could slide up and look out of, providing the sweeping view of the city she so loved.

Except the view today was blocked by a flash of red and blue, as Spider-Man hung upside down outside her window, giving a dramatic wave as he dangled onto his web, one handed. Michelle nearly spilled her coffee on the carpet.

Shoving the pane up, she stuck her head out the window.

“What are you doing, you nimrod?”

“I just thought I’d swing by and see how you were? Geddit? Swing by?”

“Your humour is appalling,”

He tilted his head to the side, eyes widening a fraction. That mask still freaked her out a little – it made him seem alien.

“My humour is awesome, dude,”

“What are you doing outside my window?” Michelle asked again, making him drop his shoulders in annoyance.

“I told ya, I’m checking up,”

“Why?” she snapped incredulously, taking a sip of her coffee in a feeble attempt to calm her beating heart. This guy could scare the living bejesus out of her, seriously.

“Mmmmm… cause you got into some trouble lately? Yeah – I thought I best make sure you hadn’t fallen into trouble again,”

“I can look after myself,”

“Uh –huh. Cool.”

Michelle frowned again, watching him curiously. She’d seen him multiple times before, but having him so close to her personal space gave everything a strange definition. She studied his build – lean and muscular; made for agility rather than strength. His fist was wrapped around the web, muscles taught, legs bent as he held on, almost effortlessly. It was really pretty amazing how easy he made it look.

 _Focus, Michelle_.

“You wanna see?” he perked up, voice high and excitable. He really was like a child.

It seemed so weird to think that maybe he was younger than she realized.

Maybe he was younger than _her_.

Oh, that would be truly weird on so many unmentionable levels.

“See what?” she said, rolling her eyes.

She could tell, even under the mask, that he grinned at her.

“The view,”

Somehow she found herself hoisted up onto the roof, held in a loop in his arms, as he swung them up on top.

He’d been right. It was some view.

The skyscrapers soared into view, the sky tinged pink at the horizon – a sign of the encroaching, late afternoon. The cars were like ants on the road, the people even more so, streets packed as everyone went about their business. The hazy heat, the soft glow of the sun.

Was this what he saw every day?

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, never one to be scared of heights. She’d always loved them as a child – the first to challenge anyone to climb as high as she could up the trees in the park. Those days seemed like a very long time ago.

“Yeah – I guess it is,” he nodded in agreement, their legs hanging off the edge, swinging in mid-air.

For a while they didn’t say anything – they just sat there, basking in the warm sun, even more so on her skin when she was up this high.

“So what’s your deal, anyway? Why’d you come by?” He looked to her to answer, but she interrupted him before he spoke.

“And don’t give me the whole ‘checking up’ crap because I’m not stupid,”

“I’m serious! I was worried about you!”

He paused, realizing what he’d just said.

“Uh – I mean – you know – I worry about _everybody_ , so-“

“Thanks, Spider-Butt,”

He frowned, swinging his legs.

“I really don’t appreciate that nickname, you know,”

“Too bad,” Michelle laughed, “It’s staying,”

“Hmph,” he replied, but he didn’t seem as overly upset as he made out to be. There was something highly strange about sitting up on this rooftop with him, alone, talking like she actually _knew_ the guy.

Which she might have. If he’d take off the dumb mask.

“What kinda age are you anyway?”

He seized up at the question, leaning back to look at her. His eyes had widened again, now almost panicked in their blank gaze.

“What?”

“Age. What age are you? You can’t be any older than 30. Unless you’re a 40 year old man, which makes this super creepy,”

“What? No! I’m not 40! I’m a boy! I mean – a man! I mean – ugh, whatever. I’m not 40, alright?”

Michelle smirked, brushing her curls from her face. She wished she hadn’t left her coffee in her room. It would have been the perfect scene – sipping coffee and watching the city whizz by.

“Then what age are you?” she tilted her chin upward, like she always did when she wanted an answer. Spider-Man sighed beside her, perhaps considering, for a moment, to tell her.

She crossed her legs, one over the other, as they dangled over the edge. It was a dangerous move – that reflex that made you want to jump even when everything screamed in you to not even think about it.

She couldn’t remember the term – it was French or something.

“Younger than most,” he clarified, standing up.

That seemed about all the answer she was getting.

“I’ll take you down,” he said, offering his arm.

She took it, as they swung back in through her window, Spidey once again hanging upside down outside her window, gripping onto the web he was dangling on.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Spider-Butt,” she quipped, picking up her coffee to take another drink. It had gone lukewarm. He sighed in resignation at the nickname, saluting her.

“Yeah, sure. See ya around, Michelle,”

He swung off, agile in motion, as the webs spun from his wrists, spiralling into threads as he zipped from building to building.

It was only once he disappeared behind the nearest one that she realized.

She hadn’t told him her name.

So how come he knew it anyways?

Michelle frowned. That guy was more of a mystery than he was letting on already, and this time, _this time_ , she was going to figure out who he was.


	3. Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the reviews I've gotten on this little story have left me absolutely astounded! Seriously, you people are amazing.
> 
> Song recs are a little less this time, just two: Not Alone by GT & Wildfire, and True Faith by New Order. 
> 
> This chapter is a little divergent from the usual, featuring Peter a lot more than Michelle. For anyone curious, I thought it was interesting to expand on his POV, considering that's the one we watched Homecoming from. I'm of the opinion that all the relationships in Peter's life have as much importance as his relationship with MJ - May and Ned in particular. I have such respect for their characters. I thought it best to keep them a prominent part in his life, as they were in the film. It's all about continuity, folks. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

 

Tuesday night was normally a non-event in the Parker household. May was never one to stress out over stuff she felt only existed in order to stress people out, but Tuesdays were all about trying to remain sane for the rest of the week. A simple meal, early bedtime. Peter didn’t mind so much – school was already enough of a pain as it was, without adding a 5 hour sleep schedule to it.

After everything, May was still remaining close lipped about her recent discovery. Peter, lying on his bed at 10, dressed in checkered pants and a t-shirt with the Starship Enterprise emblazoned on the front, sometimes caught himself wondering if he ought to bring it up. There were nights where May would stare at him, like she expected him to collapse or jump out a window. Other nights she was fine.

Some nights she spoke very little.

He got it, of course. Getting the suit back, walking around in his room with the door open – probably not his greatest plan. She’d walked past, staring at him, mouth agape, only to utter the accursed words: “What the fuck?!”, for Peter to then whirl around, eyes liked saucers, having gone mysteriously mute.

It was a harsh memory to recall.

May had fumed – yelled at him to explain what was going on. He’d tried – and ultimately failed – to explain why he, of all people, was wearing Spider-Man’s costume, and what on earth had happened to him.

The conversation had been very one-sided: Peter desperately trying to calm her down, and then try to explain everything. Top to bottom. The spider bite, the strange wall-crawling, the ridiculous put –together suit, the death of Uncle Ben, and then, eventually, the trip to Berlin.

And, of course, the introduction of the official, Amazing Spider-Man.

Peter sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, mussing his hair. The waves had yet to be tamed, but he’d managed to make it look better than yesterday. Michelle had asked if he was trying to look like a woolly sheep.  

He’d scowled in reply, but she’d just laughed, smile bright but triumphant.

When he thought about it himself, he was still shocked to discover that the idea of him being a superhero still weirded him out – just a little. The idea that he could swing about rooftops, and climb walls, and sit atop skyscrapers of his own free will.

It was a teenager’s dream, and yet…

It had its consequences. He’d learned that with Vulture.

He’d learned it again when May had found out.

Surely there would come a time when they would talk about it? So far, she hadn’t stopped him going out or doing anything he’d hadn’t already being doing, but he suspected that it wouldn’t last long.

Sitting up on the bed, he took a glance around the room, thinking. It was a comfortable one, by many standards. Lit with a warm glow, posters, textbooks piled like mountains on his desk. Shelves to the right, stacked with all manner of books and Lego figurines. A badly balanced chess set on the desktop, fan shoved in the corner. Soldering iron haphazardly sitting on the edge of the chest of drawers, homework unfinished in a file pad. It felt like _his_ place – somewhere he could be himself without any strings attached.

Except, his room couldn’t save him from the inevitability of some things, and one of those was that conversation.

Sighing deeply, he jumped off the bed and walked to the door, pulling it open. If he didn’t do it now, he probably never would.

What was the point of being a superhero if he couldn’t be honest with the people he loved?

May was currently in the kitchen, busily making herself what smelled like a very strong coffee. That had been one thing he’d picked up on – her coffee had gotten stronger.

He tried not to wonder why, since he was 99 percent sure it was entirely his fault.

“Hey, May?” he called, scratching the back of his neck, unsure what he was actually going to say. Was this even the right time? Should he just leave it?

 _Loser_ , Michelle’s voice echoed in his head, and he shook it away. This was his aunt – if he couldn’t talk to her, he couldn’t talk to anyone.

“Mmmm?” she hummed, stirring the coffee with a spoon as she turned to face him, still in her day clothes: a stripy top and black skirt, but her shoes were gone, leaving her barefoot, bright red nail varnish still visible on her toenails.

“Peter, are you alright?” Her expression had slipped into one of concern, brow furrowed. He’d seen that look many a time, even more so when she’d been unaware of him zipping about Queens via synthetic spider web.

Peter swallowed carefully, trying to find his voice.

“Can I ask you something?”

May tilted her head, mouth frowning.

“Yeah, sure, honey – what’s wrong?”

He looked her in the eye, taking a few steps forward as he tried to form the words. This was more difficult than he had thought it was going to be.

“May, I – are you OK?”

Her frown deepened.

Panicking, he cut in before she could say anything.

“Look, I never meant for you to worry or get upset, but ever since you found out, I feel like we’re just, I dunno – _skipping_ around the conversation.”

“Conversation? Peter, what -”

“ _The_ conversation!” he exclaimed, “About me! Being Spider-Man! About being a superhero, and being a kid, and not knowing what to say to you half the time cause I know you’ll be upset and worry about me anyways! The conversation about you – about if you’re OK, or if you want to talk about it, or about-“

His rant was cut short as May left her coffee on the counter, coming over and wrapping him up in a hug, embrace safe and secure. She’d been more of a mother than he even remembered his real one being. There’d always been faint memories of her – a flash of perfume, the glint of a smile in his mind’s eye – but May had been the solid, real form of a guardian that he’d run to when the bullies had taunted him, or when he’d gotten an A on his report, or when he needed to talk about this girl he liked, or when he needed advice.

May had been there when so many others hadn't been.

And even after Uncle Ben, even after the Spider-Man guise, and the Vulture, and every other crazy thing that he’d done, and yet again made her worry over, she’d still been there for him when he needed her most.

She was the mother he’d always wished his real one had been.

“Peter,” she whispered, letting go to take his face in her hands. He’d grown again, shooting up another inch or so, now looking right down at her. It didn’t matter though – she still felt bigger than him. Stronger, and wiser, and better than he was. He’d made so many mistakes, and this woman – this amazing mother he had – had still taken him back again and again, determined to protect him and keep him safe. To be a guardian to him.

“Peter, what you do – what you _failed_ to tell me – it doesn’t matter now.”

“But, May -”

“No, listen to me, because I’m serious. Whatever’s going on with you – these powers, this identity – this _job_ that you have? It’s fine. But what I worry about is _you_. Not Spider-Man. It won’t matter how many times you tell me you’re fine, swinging about rooftops or jumping off walls or climbing buildings. I’m terrified for you. For Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. Spider-Man’s just a mask with a suit. He’s a symbol, an identity, a being. But Peter, you – you’re the boy I’ve been looking after since you were little, so of course I’m terrified. _Of course_ I’m worried.”

Peter looked down at her, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he looked at her, seeing the exact same expression in hers.

She was terrified of losing him like she had her husband.

She swallowed carefully, running a hand through his hair, brushing it from his face tentatively.

“But sweetie, you’re a determined guy. I’ve seen it – you’re exactly like your father was, and that stubbornness and that determination are just who you are. You’re a young man now, Peter – and you’ve got something that can be used for so much good. _So much_ good. And I’m not going to stop you from doing what you think is right. But you have to promise me that the man that I know you are doesn’t get lost underneath the suit, or the identity. I can’t bear to lose someone else, Peter. So all I ask is that you be safe. Safe, not just for yourself, but for me. And just come home.”

Peter stared at her, water blurring his vision. She stroked his cheek, wiping away a tear as it rolled down, his eyelashes coated with unshed tears. He dived in for a hug, wrapping his arms right around her, head in her shoulder.

“Awk, love, c’mon.” But she didn’t pull away, instead stroking his hair, smoothing her hand down his back.

“I promise I will, May. Seriously.” Peter said, words muffled against her top. He pulled away, smiling faintly.

“In time for dinner every night,”

May laughed, bringing his head down to kiss his forehead tenderly. If anything, the young boy she’d taken in looked so much like, and yet so _unlike_ , the boy that stood in front of her now.

“You better. You might be a superhero, but dinner is still at 6,”

He laughed himself, just as the radio switched to the next song.

“Oh, I love this!” she cried, rushing over to turn it up loud.

Peter laughed, wiping away the last of his tears.

“Would you dance with your aunt before bed?” she asked lightly, laughing as she did so.

Peter nodded, and that was how the Parkers ended up dancing around the apartment, giddy laughter filling the room.  

˟               ˟               ˟

 

The next day at school, Ned continued to laugh at the image of Peter with sheep’s wool for hair, courtesy of Michelle still calling him Shaun the Sheep, since the waves in his hair looked there to stay. It hadn’t mattered how often he’d tried combing it down – suddenly, his hair was being as stubborn as he was, and refusing to stay down flat. Sooner or later, he’d come in looking like he’d been living wild. It was probably the mask’s fault.

The day sped by, but Michelle seemed to be asking a lot of strange questions.

As they made their way to English, she sidled up to him, a sharp glint in her eyes.

“Hey, Parker,”

He turned round, catching her gaze. He’d reached the same height as her now, able to look her straight in the eye. She hadn’t taken it so well, considering that she could no longer tease him for that as well, on top of all her other taunts.

“Uh – yeah?”

“You’re friends with Spider-Man, right?”

He stopped short, Ned being none too subtle as his eyes widened, looking ready to choke.

“Mmmm – well 'friends' is a little much –”

“You telling him about me?”

Peter froze, blinking.

“What?”

Michelle frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“Funny, considering he came round to _my house_ yesterday, and _knew my name_ ,”

Peter tried to look as innocent as he could, Ned hyperventilating behind him.

“Oh, right – he did? I mean – I might have mentioned you? Once. Or twice. I dunno. It was a long time ago,”

“On the internship,” It wasn’t a question on her part.

He laughed nervously, hitching his bag straps onto his shoulders again. Holy _crap_ , why hadn’t he figured out he’d said her name?

“Yeah, the – internship,”

Michelle sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as she stalked off ahead of them. Ned turned to him, mouth open wide.

“Dude, what did you do?!”

“Ned, seriously-“

“You said her name?!”

“Yeah, I said her name! It was an accident!”

“Peter, she’s going to find out you’re Spider-Man!”

“Ned, keep your voice down!” Peter hissed, as they traipsed on to English, glancing around them cautiously. This was honest to God not a conversation for the school corridors.

“But Peter –”

“It was a slip up!” he said hastily, as they reached the classroom door, Peter turning to his best friend with serious eyes.

“It’ll be fine, man. Seriously.”

“She’s one of the brightest girls in our year, Peter,”

He couldn’t argue there.

Peter huffed out breath, stepping through the door as they made their way to their seats, very aware of Michelle’s keen gaze on them, book opened on her desk, but very much concentrating on their conversation. Or at least, what she could hear of it.

Sitting down, he made a show of taking out his textbook, all whilst Michelle’s eyes burned into his back, even if he couldn’t see her.

This was bad.

If Michelle was anywhere near as intelligent as he knew her to be, that one slip-up could be his last one.

If he wasn’t careful, she’d know within the week.

And that was a lot more terrifying than he had thought it would be.

˟               ˟               ˟

His afternoon as Spidey turned into one of complete upheaval, as the city burst into chaotic life the minute he donned the mask and began swooping around the rooftops. There were days were crime was barely a whisper on the streets, with him instead filling his afternoon patrol with helping the little guy do the little jobs. He remembered the one time some little girl had lost her mum, and he’d walked her round until they’d found her. She’d given him a tight hug, blushing wildly. She’d only been about 7 years old, but it made his heart warm at the thought of it.

It was doing things like that, that made him immensely happy with his lot in life. To be able to help everybody as he could.

He was trying.

But there were other days where everything seemed to be falling apart. Car crashes, muggings, theft. He didn’t mind the heavier stuff – it just took up a lot more time. There’d been one car crash he’d been unable to sleep after – an incident where the passengers were pretty badly injured, the blood thick and wet on their skin, matted in their hair, as he’d helped pull them out. He was not afraid of blood by any stretch – but even that much could make someone’s stomach turn. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but everyone injured had survived.

Just.

As he zipped about on his web, swooping down low and throwing himself up high again, freefalling back into the traffic again as he kept an eye around him, he still felt a fresh thrill at the adrenaline coursing through him, as he sailed by skyscrapers and high office blocks, kids waving at him from the sidewalk, eyes wide in amazement. There was something unbearably innocent in their admiration. He loved them for it – they made it all the more worth it.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an old man being dragged off behind a building by three masked men, each heavily built with thickset arms and legs.

Looked like trouble.

_Spider-Man was in._

He was still in a pretty crowded part of town, the cars rolling by, hoards of people swarming past as they tried to make their way downtown. Looping round the building, he caught the ledge and flipped up, peering over to catch a glimpse of the action. The old man had been cornered against the wall, his hands up, fear etched on his features. Peter took a guess he was in his early sixties, if a little older, and he seemed frail.

 _Some people are seriously wacked_ , he thought, webbing the wall and flipping over, grabbing the web as he lowered himself, once again classically upside down.

The old man caught sight of him over the man’s shoulder, eyes widening a fraction. Peter saluted to him, just as the men turned around.

“Oh, hey, you guys!” he chirped, just as the first man threw a punch his way, which he dodged, flipping up onto the wall behind him, hands spread wide against the brick.

“Watch my nose, dude!” he exclaimed, as he shot more webs at his face, blinding him, sending him stumbling into the street. He landed on the ground again, looking for him.

“Have fun!” he called after him, just as he turned around, seeing the old man receive a punch to the face, sending him to his knees, the blood dribbling from a cut over his eye.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up, dude – if you’re gonna punch someone, at least punch an ugly face like yours!” He flipped over his head, webbing him to the nearest wall, the gun he’d been holding clattering to the ground. The last one had kicked the old man before trying to run, but he’d been too slow to leave – he found his hands coated in the sticky web, itching his skin, as he toppled over, his comrade staring down at him from the wall, his mouth webbed shut.

Peter lurched forward, dropping to his knees as he turned the old man over, whose face was twisted in pain.

“Hey, you OK, old man?” he asked gently, helping him up.

He looked at him, squinting as his eye began to swell, the blood leaving a trail on his face.

“We’ll get you to an ambulance, OK? Yeah, yeah, you’re good, you’re fine.”

He felt himself shaking as he put his arm around his shoulder, carrying him back out to the street.

The cops had already been called, an ambulance in tow, who readily took the man from Peter’s arms, leading him over to the back of the ambulance van to get his eye sorted. Peter stared on, his heart beating fast. Usually muggings took very little out of him – they were quick and painless jobs, finished in an instant. The criminals were feeble and weedy.

But that man.

He was a civilian like anyone else, but he wasn’t as strong as he once might’ve been.

He was aging – at the later stage of life. Peter had no doubt he could more than look after himself, but being beat up was never a pleasant experience.

Even as he swung up again, shooting out to the next building, his stomach felt hollow.

˟               ˟               ˟

Lying on his bed, phone to ear, Peter waited for Ned to pick up. Ever since he’d come home, May casting a concerned glance his way as he traipsed into the kitchen, still suited up bar the mask, he’d felt empty at the thought of what had just happened. She’d asked him what was wrong, but he’d brushed it off as a rough night. She’d smoothed his hair back, making him a cup of tea, telling him to go and rest.

He’d done as he’d been told.

Ned finally picked up.

“Peter?”

“Hey, Ned,” he replied, voice soft and tired. It had been a long day, and he could already feel the exhaustion creeping up on him.

“What’s up?” Ned’s voice remained chipper, but after a pause, silence filling the line, it turned worried.

“Dude? You OK?”

Peter rubbed his face, his eyes feeling heavy. Man, he hadn’t expected this to be so hard.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just – something happened today,”

“Did Tony Stark call you in for another mission?!” Ned couldn’t disguise his excitement, as shuffling could be heard from the end of the line, seating himself comfortably at his desk.

Peter smiled wanly. Ned was so geeky, even by his standards.

“No – just the usual. Crime-fighting. Webslinging,”

“Badass,”

“Mmm, yeah, I guess. ‘Cept…” he paused. How did you even introduce that to the conversation?

“Yeah?” Ned’s voice paused.

“There was a mugging,” Peter began, staring at the underside of the top bunk bed. His room was lit by one of his lamps, dimmed so May wouldn’t be too bothered he was still up at this time – 11pm to be exact.

“Oh,” the deflation in Ned’s voice made Peter grimace. Maybe he should’ve kept quiet.

“What happened?”

Peter sighed, putting an arm behind his head.

“An old guy – he got injured. I webbed them up and all, but – he got injured. It’s kinda been bugging me is all,”

The line remained silent, as Ned contemplated his answer. Usually, any mention of Peter and his wall-crawling antics had them both grinning like idiots, but this was a territory he’d known had been coming sooner or later. He’d already confessed about the parking garage incident when he’d fought Vulture. His usually bright face had been vacant and hollow, as if even just recalling the memory was pain enough.

Finally, he spoke.

“Peter – it’s gonna happen. I know that’s hard to get – it’s tough. But you’re Spider-Man! It’s what you do! At least you’re making solid choices.”

“You mean at least I’m not being suspected of watching porn in the school computer lab?” Peter couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.

Ned snorted.

“Something like that. But yeah – people’ll get hurt. But you’re good – it’ll happen, but you can keep stopping it, you know? I wouldn’t worry. Don’t let the muggers get you down,”

Peter paused, face breaking into a wry smile.

“Did you just make a Harry Potter joke?”

Ned stayed silent.

“Maybe?”

Peter snorted himself, feeling a little better.

Yeah – _he’d be alright_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious, the song I thought of was 'Murder on the Dancefloor' by Sophie Ellis Bexter *laughs* 
> 
> It's a good song, and the type of music I feel May would absolutely be into. 
> 
> As always, reviews and kudos are welcomed!


	4. Heroic Deeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 of this story and you people are jumping on it like crazy. This response - man. I have never felt so amazed in my life. Seriously - those comments keep me going. It's a joy to have an inbox, I swear. 
> 
> Some songs again: Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush (because I can be imaginative pfft), You Get What You Give by New Radicals, and Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae - for the bit between Peter and Michelle. 
> 
> Anyways, this sort of marks the beginning of a change between Peter and MJ, so enjoy!

 

Friday rolled round, and Peter couldn’t have been happier – this week had been a torment, with Michelle being more shrewd about a lot of things that he wished she’d just forget. How he’d managed to slip up so badly around her, saying things he wouldn’t have _dreamed_ of in the past made him just cringe at the thought. It didn’t matter what he seemed to do around her – he always managed to make a right idiot out of himself.

Not to mention the fact that his hair was still not doing as it was told.

He had begun to notice things about her that he’d never noticed before, things he’d been skipping over for years. Maybe it was his newly heightened senses, dialed up to eleven at all given times of the day, or maybe he was just spending too much time around her.

Was that a thing? Spending too much time around someone?

Around a _girl_?

Peter shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he continued down the path, earphones still in as Midtown High School came into view.

She was _intelligent_. Smarter than he even remembered her being. Every time he came across her, she seemed to have drunk another fountain of knowledge, still on top no matter how anyone else tried. The only thing he was beating her in was Chemistry – but this, coming from the guy who chemically designed spider webbing, probably didn’t mean much otherwise.

She was quick, and sharp, and rude, and she was all the things that could be made into dangerous weapons. She took no prisoners; she never backed down.

She frightened the living _Christ_ out of him. He never had any idea what she was going to say, or where she was going to jump out from next, constantly asking the most difficult questions for him to answer, always squinting at him like she still didn’t believe he _existed_ , never mind that he was telling the truth.

And yet – Peter felt like he’d never met another girl like her.

Sure, there had been Liz – kind, gentle, humble Liz, who’d been so perfect to him he couldn’t imagine how anyone could compare. The Senior he thought he couldn’t have (but could, except for her Dad making that a major issue), and of course, the girl who was now – what, at least 100 miles away? Something like that.

But Michelle.

 _MJ_.

She was something so new, and fierce, it was like holding a bright light and not knowing where to put it. He couldn’t dim the shine, and he couldn’t seem to escape her.

He had to admit it to himself –

He was kind of, _kind of_ , attracted to her.

Just that little bit.

Peter sighed heavily, shoving his way past the dozens of other students on their way in, the morning sun hot on his back.

He actually hated being a teenager sometimes.

˟               ˟               ˟

If Michelle had one thing to say about English, it was this:

She seemed to be the only one who actually ever did the reading.

Maybe it was just her ego – she wasn’t known for being modest about lots of things, again to do with the whole ‘pride isn’t a sin’ thing that angered a lot of other people. Or maybe it was just her being very observant.

She did that a lot, it seemed.

Even as Mr Richards strolled up to the board, dumping his file on the desk with an unceremonious thud, she could tell from the way Peter was slouching over that he was obviously trying to disguise the fact that he was rushing in the last chapter of their book.

_Wuthering Heights._

Certainly not a romance, in her eyes. More like an obsession. Like a desire, lustful and carnal, and destructive, and so many other exhaustive emotions, that seemed like too much trouble to even bother with. She may not be humble, but never let it be said she was dramatic.

She watched as Peter slammed the book shut, just as Mr Richards turned to the class, adjusting his rectangular glasses. Even with his greying hair, and highly appalling taste in fashion, Michelle had to hand it to him – he knew what he was talking about.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, glancing at them all. His expression was relaxed, but slightly cryptic.

Michelle frowned. Something had been planned.

 _Observant_.

She always was, anyways. She knew a look, or a gesture, and could define instantly what it meant. She could tell by the glimmer in his eye, the way he glanced at them all as if to assess some unknown mark on their foreheads – he had an assignment.

A difficult one, too.

“Considering the fact that you’ve all read the novel by this point -” - he shot a pointed look at Peter, who smiled innocently, despite knowing full well that Mr Richards had seen the last chapter being inhaled at the speed of light –  “I’ve decided to set the first assignment. But not on the novel. It’s too quick to just jump straight into the text when you’ve only read it once.”

Michelle snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow. Wasn’t that the whole point of reading it?

Mr Richards ignored her.

“So, instead, I’m going to set you a theme. Broad as you like. Something to make you think about Heathcliff, but not directly analyse him.”

Michelle narrowed her eyes. This certainly _was_ new – she’d never heard an assignment like this before. Out of curiosity, she glanced at Parker and Leeds. Ned was sitting slumped at his desk as usual, mouth slightly open in confusion, but Peter looked stiff as a board, shoulders tensed. Even from under his checked shirt, she could see the muscles taught. For a moment, she pondered how on earth someone as weedy as him had such a strong back.

She quickly dismissed the thought, as it veered dangerously close to being obsessed.

“So, class – how do you define a hero? That is your assignment. And I want no complaints -” he snapped, as half the class groaned in unison – “You live in a world filled with superheroes, people. Don’t be so quick to overrule how important a question that is.”

“You mean like with Captain America, sir?” someone shouted out, gathering a bunch of snickers from the rest of their classmates.

Mr Richards raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Feel free to see it that way. It’s by your definition. You young people – brightest minds. All that. Tell me what you think. Just do it in essay form.” He smiled angelically (indicating he was by no means as such) before he began to pair them off, notifying the class that friends did not mean grades.

Michelle waited patiently, head still stuck in Pride and Prejudice, just as her name was called, and –

“Jones, Parker – hop to it. And Miss Jones?”

Michelle’s head snapped up, mouth parted to speak, just as she caught a glance of Peter’s bemused face.

“Pride and Prejudice is indeed a fine piece of literature, but I doubt we need to discuss if Darcy is a hero or not. That’s a far easier conclusion to make. With Parker.” He turned and left, Michelle scowling at his back, contemplating throwing the book at him if it annoyed him so much.

She turned her murderous look to Parker, but he just smiled weakly, letting out a nervous rush of breath.

“You’ve got a week to figure out your argument. And I want both sides! One-sided arguments aren’t going to work in such a complex statement.”

That seemed about all the information they were going to be given. As the topic of conversation turned to the basic plotline and characters of Emily Brontë’s masterpiece, Michelle hissed over at Parker, making him turn round again. His hair still sat in waves, although far less crazy than they had been. He still looked slightly rumpled, but the easy smile that seemed to permanently rest on his face made it all the harder to see him as the loser she had always called him out to be.

“Your place. Tonight. Seven. Essay.”

She didn’t give him room to argue, as she stuck her nose back in her book, jotting down some notes about the _actual_ set novel as she went. She’d already read it twice – this would be a piece of cake.

Providing Parker actually turned up this time.

And, of course, providing that she didn’t run into Spider-Man again.

The pattern there was becoming alarmingly clear, and she wasn’t sure exactly what she was missing.

But it was definitely Parker’s fault. When wasn’t it these days?

˟               ˟               ˟

The trip home gave Peter the time to process exactly by what percentage his life had gotten worse by.

After he’d promised himself to avoid Michelle at all costs, now he had to go and be paired with her – on an English project about heroes.

As if his secret identity couldn’t be at even more risk as it already was.

He knew she was suspicious – although, sometimes that was hard to tell, considering how often she looked like she was breaking down your DNA, strand by strand – but by how much, he hadn’t a clue. Every interaction felt like an interview – some hellish one that seemed to never end. He was constantly trying to keep his mouth shut around her, constantly trying to avoid the awkward questions, but she kept hitting back with ones even harder to swerve than the last. At this rate, she really _would_ find out within the week.

Slipping off the 7 train, dropping down once more into the heart of New York, Peter felt a sense of relief wash over him. At least here, he could just be Spider-Man, no mystery girls or strange questions in his direct mind.

At least here, he could swing free.

Taking the normal route to his dumpster-deposit area, he kept his headphones in, head nodding to the sound of the music. Ed Sheeran was his latest taste, but he’d gone to that from the Star Wars soundtrack, so he was keeping it interesting.

Finally finding the turn-in, he took his earphones out, tying them up and stashing them in his jeans.

As he turned his head up, ready to throw his backpack to the wall, he stopped short, head tilting up as he took in the sight before him, frozen to the spot.

His dumpster area was backed into a dead end, a huge wall towering up above him, and there, spray-painted across it, was the giant emblem of his alter-ego. The spider was a fierce black on a striking red background, the webbing sharp and vicious, as the spider’s legs slid down into needle-like pincers - all in such vivid detail. He stood totally mesmerised.

But beneath it, the words caught his eye.

_Thank you, Spider-Man!_

It was done as the usual, chunky writing so commonly found in street art, but the thought behind it meant no less.

That was _his_ symbol. Painted on a wall for all to see.

Some _stranger_ – some gutsy artist with a can in their hand – was thanking _him_ , a boy they didn’t even know.

Peter breathed out, staring upward.

“You OK, son?”

He swivelled around, coming face to face with a man, of about 30 years, skin dark and eyes sharp. He seemed slightly curious about him, tilting his head like a cat. Peter swallowed.

“Yeah, I was just – I was just looking.”

“Looking?” He stepped back to see for himself, and his eyebrows raised a fraction. He nodded in understanding.

“You a fan?” he asked him, expression like that of a sceptic being asked if they believed in God.

Peter laughed nervously, pushing a hand through his hair, before shoving them both in his pockets.

“Sort of,”

He nodded in understanding.

“You know who did it?”

“What? No! No – no idea,”

“Hmmmm,”

The man turned to leave, but seemed to think twice, turning back to look at him. He had two plastic carrier bags in his hands, dressed in a t-shirt and track-bottoms, sandals on his feet. But there was a keen look in his eyes – as if he could tell almost instantly who he was talking to.

“You ever met him?”

Peter stared.

“Spider-Man?” he laughed forcefully. “Only once. Or twice. Not often. Never talked to him, actually -”

“I never got to thank him,”

Peter stopped short, stare growing hard as he watched the man’s face change, from casual indifference, to something deeper, and more regretful.

“My kid – he’s like, three? now – ran out in front of a car. Sometime last week. You know what kids are like – they’ve got no sense of danger about anything,” he laughed half-heartedly.

Peter didn’t.

“I wasn’t paying attention, so it was my fault. But – yeah, he ran out, and I couldn’t stop him. And the car was coming, and I thought – hell, I’m going to watch my kid die all cause I couldn’t keep an eye on him – and then – ”

He motioned with his arm, swiping it lazily.

“He just comes in, web spinning, and he just picks him right up, and lands him on the pavement. And I can’t say anything, or do anything – cause – well, Spider-Man just saved my kid. My three year old kid,”

He paused for breath, squinting up at the graffiti with a serious look.

Peter could hardly breathe, face set in a hard frown, lips pursed.

He remembered it. Clearly. He’d even had Karen play it back to him that night, just to see how close it’d been. Sometimes it helped to remember how easily these things happened.

“He swung off before I could thank him. Dunno who the heck he is. Just some guy with a mask on, you know?”

Peter looked at the ground, staring at his toes, before casting a glance back up at the spider. It sat on the wall as he often did – observing, watching. Guarding and protecting. Making a statement.

_A spider rules this web. Dare to get tangled up in it?_

He felt a rush of cold run through his veins, a frission of adrenaline sparking down his spine.

That was _his_ mark. He was this city’s protector, and someone had thought to say it out loud for everyone.

 _Silent in the shadows, quiet like the dead_.

“If you see him, you thank him for me?”

Peter whipped his head up to look at him, mouth parted in surprise. But it soon melted into a small smile, a sliver of confidence and tenderness in the quirk of his lips, as he tucked his hands deeper into his pockets of his teal hoodie.

“Yeah. Sure. He’ll get the message,”

The man nodded once, before setting off with his shopping bags, leaving Peter by the graffiti. He swivelled on his heel, whistling to himself.

He took one last glance back at the spider, hanging on the wall in proud dominance, black and red a clash from hell, electrifying to behold.

He smiled to himself, dipping in behind the dumpster, as he pulled out the suit.

 _The Spider-Man is coming for you_.

˟               ˟               ˟

Michelle taking the walk back to Peter’s house was a route she normally wasn’t used to – considering that she lived in the immediate city rather than the actual Queens area – but it was a nice change.

The idea that she was actually going to see him in a different setting unnerved her a little.

She’d been the one to suggest it, of course. Because her stupidity seemed to have no bounds whatsoever. But he hadn’t made an argument of any kind, which surprised her just a little bit. Any kind of interaction with her, and he looked ready to puke.

Or perhaps that was her just being defensive.

It was just an English assignment.

Funny how that didn’t seem to make this any less weird.

Passing under the bridge, the 7 train trailing past, the bronze afternoon was coating the road underneath in gold streaks, the sky a canvas of blues and oranges, like some hazy, artist’s dream. It was a warm evening, as well – one that had Michelle shedding her dark jacket, leaving her in her white blouse and straight black skirt, raggedy boots battered but well loved. She never claimed to be particularly adept at piecing together clothing, but hey – it made it more realistic in terms of _her_. At least she looked like herself.

Wait up – why was she even concerned about what she looked like?

 _English essay, Michelle_.

Hitching her shoulder bag up onto her shoulder again, she buzzed in, making her way to the 7th floor in the most casual manner she could manage, without looking too lazy. Happy mediums were a thing.

She waited patiently outside, observing her surroundings. It was by no means an expensive block – very simple but tidy and open. Just as she turned to the door again, the door opened, revealing the very boy she’d been thinking about.

His smile was wide, genuine – but he seemed to have changed clothes - perhaps to accommodate the more lax and comfortable settings of home. A loose white t-shirt, marked with the symbol of a neutron star, and black track-bottoms, barefoot, with a black cotton wristband on his arm. His hair was sticking out at one side.

He looked like he’d rushed to change.

But that didn’t seem to bother him, as he opened the door wider.

“MJ!”

“Hey, Loser,”

He smiled again, as she stepped in, instantly surveying the apartment. It was comfortable, that was for sure – cosy in a close way, with soft lighting and comfy looking chairs. It certainly didn’t look like it belonged to any aunt that she knew. Sleek, but understated.

She turned to Peter, who was scratching his nape absently, watching her observing the room.

“You up to start now?”

“Uh – yeah! Sure, sure. My room’s that way – I’m just gonna get a – glass of water,” he smiled apologetically, before rushing off in the direction of the kitchen, as Michelle dipped into his room, leaving the door open behind her. Stepping in, she felt like she’d been dumped inside Peter Parker’s brain – geeky posters, shelves practically bending under the weight of books and guides to building, deconstructing, reconstructing computers; a bunk bed covered in a stripy duvet, boxes on the top bunk; hoodie left over the back of his chair, file block and pens scattered across the desk, lamp light on, casting the room in a soft, yellow glow. It felt like he’d poured his soul onto the walls, splashing it left and right to mark the room as his own. One of his drawers was open, revealing a stack of science pun t-shirts and checked shirts, and there was a stray pair of boxers on the floor. Michelle raised an eyebrow – seriously?

As she set her bag down on his bed, pulling out her books, he stumbled into the room, stretching.

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, particularly the sliver of skin he’d flashed as his t-shirt had risen up.

What the hell? Had that been –

“Is there something on my shirt?” he asked, watching her wide-eyed expression, frozen to the spot. He looked down at his t-shirt to see if it’d been stained.

 _No_ , Michelle thought, _but there’s certainly something under it_.

She’d been near sure she’d seen the beginnings of a toned abdomen, but then, maybe she was being fanciful. But it hadn’t been the first surprise – his sweaters had seemed tighter round his arms, his hips sharper, legs firmer, as the year had gone by. 

_Just being observant._

Satisfied that his t-shirt had not in fact been stained with his dinner, Peter smiled again, brushing a hand through his hair.

“So – you wanna get started? Cause I have a lot of time on my hands,”

“You don’t have any other homework?”

“Uh – no. I did it  - before you came.”

Michelle frowned, shaking her head in disbelief. There was something very fishy about the way he was acting. He kept glancing around the room like he was trying to find the nearest escape exit, as if she were some huge, unknown insect he’d found under the bed. She didn’t really appreciate that sentiment but she ignored it.

“Were you changing at the same time or something? Your boxers are on the floor,” she quipped, bored expression and tone evident. His eyes widened in alarm, as he hurried past to scoop them up, a nervous smile still in place.

“Oh God – sorry, about that. I’m just going to put these in the laundry -” he hurried out of the room, Michelle smirking at his back. Six words- _your boxers are on the floor_ \- and she’d made him collapse in a nervous heap already.

She settled herself on his bed, pulling out the novel. Her own cover was understated too – the newest vintage classics edition, all black and white, the moors in stark contrast against each other. She didn’t dislike the book – it was a wily thing, full of a hopeless longing for a freedom you couldn’t obtain. But the passion was unbearable, the heroine near insufferable.

She’d be curious to know Peter’s thoughts on it.

Assuming he hadn’t just read it for the sake of finishing it.

He traipsed back into the room, taking a quick glance at her eyes scanning the book, rereading the blurb. He shoved aside his homework, searching for his notes, finding the book underneath a bunch of comics he’d been making his way through. His cover was the same as Michelle’s, except far less cared for, the corners turning, spine cracking.

It didn’t help its case when he was swinging about Queens, reading it between his patrols.

So far, he had a lot to say on it – probably not as in-depth as Michelle would be – but it was good. A book worth reading.

It sent him to places he could imagine being real.

He knew nothing of England, or its weather. So far, he’d gathered it was like living in an endless hurricane, the moors forever obscuring the rest of the world.

“Found it!” he said, slumping down in his chair, as he crossed his legs. It was a pity he couldn’t hang from the ceiling, as he now preferred to do – it was a lot more comfortable than he would’ve thought. Probably some inane preference he’d gained from the spider bite, no doubt.

Michelle hummed in response, now reading the author’s biography, even though she no doubt already knew so much about Emily Brontë that she sounded like she’d met her in real life.  

He watched as her eyes flicked across the page, curls obscuring one side of her face, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, boots kicked off onto the floor. She looked more serene than he remembered her ever being, in the quiet of his room, a book in her hand.

This was the Michelle Jones you saw when the noise cut out.

Her head finally turned up to look at him, eyes open for once, her signature squint gone.

“You ready to start?”

Peter fumbled with the novel, haphazardly trying to sit up straight.

“Yeah – sure. Let’s start,”

Michelle nodded once, snapping the book shut, pulling her file pad toward her.

They began.

˟               ˟               ˟

Nearly an hour and a half later, they were still working.

“So you think heroes ought to just do what they want?” The conversation had veered into the Avengers, as was to be expected. They’d looked at Heathcliff, sure – in the broadest terms. He was an outcast, a ruffian – someone wholly apart from the world he’d been dumped in. But he wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t anything.

“He’s just a man, living in a world that doesn’t accept him,” Michelle had argued, twirling her pen wildly, Peter frowning at the page before him.

“But I don’t get it – what is he if he’s just a guy? I mean, he’s the main character!”

“No, he’s not. Cathy is. In fact, maybe Nelly is. Who knows. It’s not a story you take as a fairytale, Parker. It’s a drab diary of life in the 19th century. Boring, prejudiced, misogynistic and cruel. Don’t get it twisted. He’s not Cathy’s hero, or anyone’s. He’s his own guy, and Cathy leads her life obsessed with him. She’s not a heroine, either – she’s a whiny brat with a serious attitude problem. She’s uppity and childish. She hates her life as she hates herself, and then hates Heathcliff for the way she feels. It’s just hatred. All of it. People fed up of looking at the same four walls, and being so trapped that they go mad. It’s not a hard concept, Parker.”

Peter had stared at her, amazed by her words. That was probably the most she’d ever spoken to him, so passionate about the story – making a point of clearing up the issue. She’d said it fiercely, eyes alight, gesturing to the page, gaze narrowing as she spoke.

It was something of a masterpiece to behold. 

“I dunno,” Peter said weakly, thinking of his time in Germany, as he pondered her current question. Did superheroes deserve to be so radical? The whole argument Mr Stark had made was that no, they didn’t. They needed to be advised, and kept under control. To not just go bursting into situations as they pleased.

He’d never thought past the idea of just getting to fight against them. Sure, he’d been warned – Captain America had gone crazy, or something, but he’d never analysed it further.

“They’re superheroes, aren’t they? Doesn’t that make them, I dunno – apart from all the stuff that goes on down on the ground?”

Michelle paused, thinking.

“No – they’re people. Crazy strong people, but still people. Heroic deeds doesn’t equal zero liability for the damage they cause.”

“Even if it saves people?”

“Even if it saves people. You don’t clear up someone else’s mess when they can do it themselves, right?”

“What if they’re sick, or immobile?” He countered, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed. He was kind of enjoying this. The back and forth, the hard questions, the difficult answers, the half-eaten toast on the plates May had given them, as she’d shot him a curious look, a twinkle in her eye. He’d tried to fight down the blush, but Michelle hadn’t seemed to notice.

He hoped.

“They’re the Avengers, Parker, not elderly people in a home,”

“I resent that sentiment,”

“Elderly people are more susceptible to being immobile, due to age. Doesn’t make it ageist – just stating fact,”

He shrugged in response, taking a drink from his cup of coffee.

He was beginning to realize that Michelle could be uncommonly honest about how she felt – even more so than he’d ever thought possible. She told things as they were, not as people wanted her to say them. She made her point, she left you room to question, but she didn’t waver in her stance. It was an admirable quality – a steely resignation that made her seem like a pillar, determined not to crumble.

He looked at her for a moment, wondering what that would be like. Her, as some ancient queen of a time long gone, defending a kingdom on the edge of its demise.

He’d been watching some documentary with May the night before – about Cleopatra, if he remembered correctly. It’d been interesting, for sure.

Michelle was not really like her, in a lot of ways – marrying her siblings, for one thing – but he could imagine her as someone like that.

A Queen of her own kingdom, like it or not.

He smirked to himself. That was probably the most literary, Romantic thing he’d ever thought of.

“What’re you smirking about, Parker?” Michelle snapped, turning to take a bite of her toast. It had gone slightly cold.

“What? Oh, nothing – boring stuff,”

She squinted – ah, it was back – but she seemed to accept his answer. He stood up, draining the last of his coffee, setting his notes behind him on the desk.

“I’m going to get more coffee – you want anything?”

Michelle shook her head.

He shrugged, heading out, scratching his neck again as he yawned faintly, back on full view as he turned round the door and disappeared down the hall.

Michelle let herself smile a little.

He really was very strange.

Her reverie was broken, though, as Peter came rushing back in, grabbing his backpack hastily, stuffing his feet into his converse, grabbing his hoodie from the back of his chair.

“The hell, Parker?” Michelle snapped, diving off his bed as he tried to find his other sock, standing in the middle of the room.

“Sorry, uh – May needs – milk! Yeah, milk – we've run out.”

“Why the rush – the shop's just down the road –“

“It’s – late, I gotta be quick. Look – May says she’ll drive you home, if you want. Thanks for coming over,” that apologetic smile had found its way back onto his face, as he donned the hoodie, zipping it up, shouldering his back pack.

He turned to her, as she picked up both their plates.

“See ya, MJ.” He rushed from the room.

Michelle stared after him, blinking in disbelief, as she traipsed into the kitchen, the TV on. The news was currently covering some armed robbery taking place in the city – only a few blocks down from them. She narrowed her eyes, leaving the plates in the sink.

“MJ! Peter had to leave – sorry about that – so I can take you home, alright? Don’t want you walking home on your own,” May had appeared from around the corner, in her slacks and top from earlier that day. Her hair was tucked back in a French braid, glasses making her brown eyes look wise.

“Yeah sure… I’ll just get my stuff,” Michelle replied, only half listening. May nodded, ducking back to look for her keys.

Walking back to his room, Michelle packed up her stuff, shoving them into her satchel, as she put her boots back on, hugging her jacket around her shoulders.

She took one last glance at the room, just as her eye landed on the sliver of a red sleeve, hanging out from the closet.

She paused, considering. Was it really that bad if she tucked it back in?

Oh, man – her brain had gone haywire these days.

Opening the closet, she pulled out the red piece, finding it to be the most beat–up, red hoodie she’d ever seen, the faintest of black marks on the front, like it’d been washed to many times. The cuffs were scuffed, the hood worn out, the front scorched.

It looked like that stupid get-up Spider-Man used to wear -

Her stomach jolted.

Was this –?

No. No no no no no.

Michelle flung it back into the closet, shutting the door.

She breathed in once.

Maybe it was just Parker being a nerdy freak as it was. Wanting a spider-emblemed hoodie like the webslinger.

He’d met him right?

He’d told him her name –

Deciding it was too late to even start thinking down that route, she dashed out of the room, just as May came round the corner, coat on.

“You ready to go?”

Michelle nodded mutely, following May out the door.

As they left, Michelle’s skin had gone cold, and she stayed silent the entire journey.

This had gone strange - strange on a scale she couldn't even begin to measure. 

What the hell was Parker doing with a beat-up hoodie? 

She paused in thought, considering. 

Maybe she _did_ know what was going on. 

Maybe she just hadn’t been willing to admit it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MJ, just admit it to yourself. 
> 
> You know exactly what the dork's up to, you just can't believe it. 
> 
> Anyways! I actually really enjoyed writing that, but this now sets us up for Michelle's investigation. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are, as always, highly appreciated.


	5. Swinging In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic continues to be absolutely amazing - I'm so happy so many people are so eager for the next chapter every time I post a new one! It's a wonderful way to have your work appreciated, so believe me when I say - thank you to everybody who's made an effort to check it out! 
> 
> For songs, try Stoppin' the Love by KT Tunstall and Life is a Rollercoaster by Ronan Keating. Also Smile by Lily Allen, if you need an extra one to listen to if you're a slower reader. 
> 
> There's a little surprise at the end of this, so enjoy!

Since the ridiculous events of Friday night, Michelle’s mind felt like it was tumbling around in a washing machine. She wasn’t quite sure what to take as the truth anymore, especially now that she’d discovered some ridiculous hoodie of Parker’s, and jumped to about a thousand other ridiculous conclusions as to what it might mean.

The Saturday morning she woke up early, and set off for the library, she became mildly aware of the fact that everything surrounding the idiot was becoming more and more centred around _her_. Maybe, yet again, she was being fanciful about it, but maybe she was being what she was also ridiculously good at:

Observant.

All the evidence had been stacking up against Parker for near a whole year, and even if she had been as observant as a brick, it didn’t take a genius to figure out something freaky was going on with him.

Dropping clubs and skipping class. Constantly talking in hushed whispers when Ned was around. Making up lame excuses for every stupid thing he did, every time he didn’t turn up for something he should’ve been there for.

Then, to more observant people, the other things as well. His change in shape. The difference in how he walked. The drastic 180 in how he conducted himself. He’d been awkward and nerdy, sure, but now he was skittish and cautious – more nervous around people.

He was keeping a secret.

That much was obvious.

But as she walked down the main avenue, towards the library, bag tucked against her leg, for once wearing a straight, white t-shirt and dark denim jeans, her brown cardigan tied around her waist, book in hand, she began to wonder if maybe she was only concocting these theories because she really _was_ just obsessed with him. It seemed a more plausible excuse than the one staring her in the face.

Slipping in through the library doors, flashing the assistant a rare smile, she took a seat in the back, marvelling at the sweeping windows and bookcases, feeling like she’d escaped to some paradise lost, able to think quietly, without all the traffic clogging her thoughts.

She pulled out her English essay, taking a quick glance over the notes she had so far. Parker had often passed his over to her and vice versa, and she could pick out his print writing, like something copied from the text in a comic book. It was easily very different from her own small, loopy handwriting, but it was so quirky - so _him_ \-  it made her smile a little.

He’d written strange things in the margins – mostly cheeky question marks in groups of three, as if to question her authority on the subject. One comment caught her eye: ‘ _he’s caught in a trap of power’_ that made her pause for thought.

Maybe Parker was better at this than she was giving him credit for.

She didn’t deny he had intelligence – smarts that kept him on his toes. No matter what Flash did in any of the science subjects, Parker flew past him with relative ease, able to pluck the answer out of thin air, even if he’d slept through the entire class.

In English, he was mostly a quiet figure – but when asked, he made a point that made her head whip up. Something about the characterization, or a question about setting.

He kept surprising her, and it made her mind flash to all her memories of him in the past.

The scrawny boy in 6th grade who cried when his new sweater was laughed at. The boy in 8th grade who got shit thrown at him for wearing glasses.

Michelle remembered every moment. All the sweaters, and geeky comments, and strange looks, and every single time she saw him getting bullied and never did a thing about it.

She grimaced, staring at his handwriting, remembering the way he’d looked. Comfortable, and at peace, an easy smile on his face as he’d questioned her and made points and sat cross-legged on his chair, hair a mess and hands tapping on his knee as he bit his lip in thought. The boy who probably wasn’t as weedy and skinny as she’d thought. The boy who laughed like he didn’t care who heard him, and who made weird faces at offhand comments.

The boy who seemed to be carrying her heart away with him, no idea how easily he’d captured it with just one smile.

Michelle sighed, opening up her book at where she’d left off. If she kept thinking about it, she’d only make it worse. The boy had infected her – made himself too present in her mind for her to forget him now.

She silently fumed over how easily she’d let herself go.

She pretended she didn’t notice how often her eyes traced his writing, side by side with hers.

˟               ˟               ˟

Several hours later, the mid -afternoon had swooped in, and Michelle decided to make a point of going for coffee – a daily ritual when she went to the library every Saturday. As much as the smell of books intoxicated her senses, and made her feel like she could rest easy wherever she was, coffee helped keep her alert, and it was one of the few modern ‘trends’ that she could see herself participating in.

Her walk down to the coffee shop was uneventful; the walk out was not so much.

With everything that happened these days, coming across robberies or explosions, or some other petty crime taking place outside the nearest shop - like some morbid pantomime - made for a rather laid-back attitude. It became second nature.

Michelle sometimes found herself enthralled, with the dozens of others, as she watched Spider-Man swing by, dropping in to save the day.

Some days she thought it was all just a stunt and something only idiots got mesmerized by.

Other days she was never anywhere nearby and she secretly felt deflated for having missed the action.  

She never claimed to be a simple person.

This particular afternoon, at a quarter past four, two men had burst into a bank, armed and with masks over their faces, yelling at the assistants to hand over everything. Michelle watched on, nibbling at her lip as she took a sip of her coffee, before deciding, possibly stupidly, to get closer to the action.

She also never claimed to be a careful person.

Dashing across the road, still too far away to be in any danger, she watched on among others as the people in the bank began throwing out the money, guns not yet pulled but most certainly in their belts. She took another sip of her coffee.

 _Any minute now_.

She watched, only mildly enthused, as a blur of red and blue swung in, landing at the entrance to the bank, turning around in time to see the gathering crowd.

“It’s gonna be fine!” he shouted, before jumping in, beginning his usual drill.

A thought flashed across Michelle’s mind, as her relaxed stance froze, hand diving into her bag as she shifted around for her book.

It wasn’t there. She’d left it in the library, inherently thinking she’d picked it up, just like she did every Saturday once she left the library.

Mind whirring, heart thumping with the new wash of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she shoved through the people crowded around her, trying desperately to push past, back in the direction of the library.

What the hell had she been doing that she’d forgotten it? Honestly, her head was gone these days.        

She could hear shouts behind her, followed by a crash, but she didn’t turn to look, too focussed on her book.

That’d cost 15 dollars, hardback and all. Alright, so maybe she couldn’t decide if 'Far From the Madding Crowd'  _needed_ to be a hardback (the paperback was probably just as good), but it’d been one of her mum’s favourite stories as a girl, and she’d promised her feverishly that it’d be one of the best she’d read yet.

And it was just sitting in there, for any idiot to pick up.

Just as she was about to reach the library doors, someone shoved past her. He was heavy set, broad shoulders –

One of the men from the bank robbery.

“Get outta the way!” he snapped, pushing her to the ground, as he stormed past her, his gun now drawn.

Michelle clambered to her feet.

“Asshole!” she shrieked back at him, flipping him the proudest middle finger she could.

Another shout was heard from behind her, Michelle turning just in time to see one man webbed to the side of the bank, the money fluttering to the ground. Spider-Man was outside again, staring in the direction of the other man, eyes narrowed.

He webbed past her, dragging the other guy back by a web, before clamping his hands to the ground with more of the synthetic silk, landing nimbly on his feet, dusting off his hands.

“Seriously, don’t run with the money, dude! It’s way more obvious that you’re a thief,”

He turned, ready to stroll past Michelle, until he caught sight of her, standing defensively as she watched him.

“Michelle?!” he exclaimed, as the people dispersed, cop sirens blaring in the background, probably on their way round to the block.

“Um, yeah – imagine meeting you here, Spider-Butt,”

He rushed over to her, staring at her cheek.

It was only now that she felt the slight stinging pain on her face, realizing it’d been scabbed when she’d fallen, most likely on the rough sidewalk beneath her.

“You’re hurt!” he cried, hand instinctively reaching out to brush her cheek. She backed away, opening the library doors.

“Whatever. I’ve had period pains worse than that. I left my book,” She dipped into the library again, leaving him stranded on the curb, quite speechless at her comment. He’d never had cause to think about that level of pain, and certainly had never planned to. He saw her head of explosive curls disappear round the corner, in search of her supposedly missing book.

Michelle thundered up the stairs, half-running, half-walking back to her desk, relief washing over her as she saw it still sitting there, untouched from where she’d left it. She practically dived on top of it, shoving it into her bag as she went back the way she’d came, heart slowing down to a more normal pace.

Her brain was finally catching up with her again, now realizing that she’d just told Spider-Man about her period pains.

Michelle huffed out air, smoothing her hands down on her jeans.

Probably not her finest moment.

Other things kept floating to the forefront of her mind, but she wilfully ignored them. Now was not the time for her hare-brained theories.

Slipping back out onto the sidewalk, the crowd had dispersed, the men being packed into the back of a police car as the officers took statements from the witnesses. It looked like some had been more badly injured than she’d thought – perhaps she wasn’t as observant about some things as she claimed.

Was this city ever going to calm down?

Just as she was about to start making her way home, Spider-Man dropped down in front of her, tilting his head slightly.

“Uh, hey again,” he didn’t sound as casual as he probably wanted to. Michelle folded her arms, watching as his eyes narrowed and widened respectively, trying to get the right look for talking to her. She quirked an eyebrow.

“So, what – what are you doing here?”

“Some light reading,”

A moment of silence.

“Oh – right.”

More silence.

“Well, look – I got to go home for said light reading, so I’m gonna go –”

He hastened to step in front of her, blocking her path.

“Hey, I could, you know – take you home. I mean, if you want to! It’s just a suggestion –”

Michelle tapped her foot against the ground, considering, as she avoided his gaze. Considering said theories, did she really trust him as much as she had done in the past? If what she thought might be the truth, then maybe she ought to run in the other direction.

She paused her foot, studying the cracks in the stones, trying to concentrate on her breathing.

_Overthinking everything, as usual. Way to go, Michelle._

“I don’t know – why would you ask?”

She stared at him, straight on. She still managed to be just a bit taller than him, but the gap was narrowing. He could look her straight in the face as it was.

She frowned. Someone else she knew had grown about that much too.

_Stop it, Michelle. Christ._

“Uh-” He seemed to be having trouble with an answer. Michelle sniffed.

“Yeah, alright. But if you drop me, I’m personally going to kick you in the balls, and then maybe write a short story about it, and present it to my class,”

His eyes had widened considerably, all awkwardness gone from his voice.

“Please don’t do that – _Christ_ , that’s harsh-“

“Yeah, whatever – are we going?”

He looked shocked, almost, at her blunt reply, but then again, it was still hard to tell under the mask. She’d read so many theories about him – age, race; if he was maybe a bug-mutant, humanoid in form but insect-like in face. Or perhaps an extremely chipper alien.

Or maybe, as Michelle was beginning to believe, an extremely chipper _high schooler_ in her _class_.

She’d already noted that yes, she’d been crushing on Spider-Man before she’d found the hoodie. The saving people thing was quite an attractive quality, and he had seemed so genuinely _kind_. Michelle liked kind in people – it made them seem so vulnerable, but in such a way that made them achingly human.

Forgive her if she was reading too much poetry at any given moment.

Maya Angelou had that way about her.

But yes, that had been her life before she’d found that stupid hoodie.

It wasn’t even the biggest issue.

The biggest issue was that maybe, if any of the ridiculous theories she had were true, then it was that he’d never thought to _tell her._

She pushed the thought from her mind. It was just a feeling – a theory that she only indulged because it meant that, maybe, her crush was paying more attention to her than she knew he was.

Michelle hated her head sometimes. She hated it so, so much.

Spider-Man shifted on his feet, offering his hand.

She took it skeptically, keeping an eyebrow raised for aesthetics.

They webbed up to the top of the library, overlooking the rest of the city. The warm sunshine beat down on her, as the traffic continued to speed past, yellow taxis, low hanging electricity cables, clouds lazy as they stretched across the sky, almost golden in their haze. So much of the day was still left, the sun determined to stay where it was for as long as it could. 

She kind of felt like that too, sometimes. 

Michelle breathed in once, just as he turned to her, eyes now a more normal size. He seemed to be slightly on edge, like he knew she didn’t trust him for whatever reason, and now, she began to realize exactly what she agreed to.

“You know, you don’t need to keep trying to save me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,”

“I don’t doubt it,” he laughed, staring out at the skyline in front of him. Queens was visible from here, like an extension of the main city.

Man, she loved this place.

“Alright, shoot,” she said, looping her bag across her shoulder, to prevent it from falling away to the city streets below.

He took one glance at her, a smile almost visible beneath the mask.

“Uh, OK – you sure?”

“You asked, dumb ass,”

“Oh, right – yeah, I did. Right,”

He took her by the waist, preparing to shoot for the next building.

“I swear, if you drop me-”

“I’m not gonna drop, you, seriously!” he laughed, webbing to the wall, before running and jumping from the building, swooping down into the city below, and suddenly, Michelle Jones began to realize what people meant when they said their stomach jumped into their mouth.

Like, properly.

Every time she felt like they’d plummet to their death, he webbed to the next building, and the next, the giant arcs making her hair fly back from her face and her skin feel like she’d dived head-first into ice cold water. She could feel the sounds of the city zoning in and out of her ears, as they continued round the blocks, nearing her house.

She’d forgotten when she’d looped her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life, but it wasn’t a bad thing. She was still surprised by how secure his arms felt; by how safe she felt near him. Even as they dropped death-defying metres down into the city below, she knew he was already making his way forward again.

“You’re actually not half-bad at this,” Michelle shouted over the noise of the traffic as they made a particularly low dip, zipping back up to the nearest building.

Spider-Man laughed.

“Yeah, I – it takes a bit of practice. This is only my second time with someone else,”

Michelle slapped his chest in irritation.

“Idiot. Should’ve said something. I could die and I would totally sue you for it,”

“How could you? You’d be in the ground,”

“Whatever, Spider-Butt. I have my ways,”

He snorted at that.

“Uh-huh. Cool,”

They finally swung down onto the roof of her apartment, sliding down the web as he deposited her through the window, Michelle clambering in unceremoniously.

Some way to get home.

She turned back to him, as he hung upside down, looking a little sheepish. He had this super annoying habit of scratching his nape every time he was even marginally nervous, but Michelle had to admit: one afternoon and already the evidence was becoming impossible to ignore.

_Dammit, Parker. It just had to be you, didn’t it?_

“Well,” he said, laughing. Michelle frowned heavily, taking a breath.

She knew it was him. She just did. The voice, the height, the nervous ticks, the way he laughed, how he stood. Everything about him – it just screamed Peter Parker back at her.

She felt stupid for having tried to pretend otherwise.

She felt stupid for not having guessed _quicker_. 

She stared at him, beginning to piece it all together.

The Washington Monument. That had been him, clambering up the walls, speed unparalled.

The Vulture. That had been him, trying to stop the destructive maniac from getting away with using alien technology.

That had been _him_. Swinging around on a thin as thin web, hurling himself into danger every day of the week, saving friends, strangers, and all citizens alike.

Trying to make the world so much better.

Trying to be a much better person than maybe anyone had ever  _asked_ him to be.

Michelle sighed, running a hand through her mess of curls.

“Stay there. Don’t even twitch,”

She swept into the kitchen, pulling out a chocolate bar from the cupboard, realizing it was Parker’s favourite: fruit and nut.

Weird.

She ran back to her bedroom, laughing a little when she saw him hanging on, as she had asked, fiddling with his web-shooters, as he turned in lazy circles on the web, his feet alone keeping him suspended.

Heck. They really had been muscles she’d caught a flash of yesterday.

She swallowed carefully.

“Take it,” she said, thrusting the chocolate bar into his face, making him pause his fiddling, staring between her and the chocolate.

“Wait, it – is that for me? What, but I – I don’t –“

“Stop blabbering or you’re not getting it at all,” she snapped, swiping her curls from her face, tucking her hands under her armpits, feeling a lot more conscious than she ever had done of any situation.

He carefully took it in his gloved hand, turning it over in his hand. He gasped.

“Ah, man, fruit and nut! I love that! How the hell did you –“

His words were cut off as Michelle leaned out the window, swiping a chaste kiss on his cheek as quickly as she dared, ducking back out before he could even register it.

“Thanks for not being a dickhead. Now get out of here, loser. You’re blocking my world view,”

Spider-Man seemed to have lost all ability to speak, instead stuttering out what sounded like an attempt at a frantic ‘thank you’, struggling to keep his grip on the web.

“What – what was that for?” he squeaked, tucking the bar into his belt.

Michelle didn’t answer, replying with a wave of her hand.

‘Shoo’, it said.

He took the meaning.

She walked slowly over to her window again, watching as he swung off.

_Damn it._

That was Peter Parker.

Of course it was.

Life just wasn’t fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody who's wondering if I have any kind of playlist for this, the answer is yes. 
> 
> I’ve complied a list of songs on Spotify, that I think reflect the story, Peter, MJ, Spider-Man, the craziness of love and life, or perhaps just a song that I liked, and was listening to it as I wrote some chapter. Who can remember - certainly not me. 
> 
> The link's available here for anybody curious: https://open.spotify.com/user/ingenioussprite/playlist/3Loo3xZLxZ46i1PoqewpoC
> 
> Give it a shuffle - see what comes up. 
> 
> The cover credit goes to oreosmunroe on tumblr. Her character aesthetics are gorgeous. 
> 
> Thanks again to those of you who have been leaving reviews and kudos! It’s a joy to read them.


	6. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romantic tensions are heating up, folks! This fic has been getting such a great response, with so many of you keen to see more Spideychelle moments. I promise you, there are plenty of them to come! I've already got some followers on my Spotify playlist, but I keep adding to it, so keep an eye out if you're curious to know what else I've added. There are so many great songs out there, you never know when you'll come across a new one. 
> 
> For this one, I suggest maybe listening to Snap My Fingers by Bridgit Mendler, Carolina by Harry Styles, Viola by This Is Ivy League, Love Song by Sara Bareilles (seriously, though) and Rearview by Bad Suns.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter will please those of you who can't have this relationship come quick enough!

Mondays were never a good thing for anybody – the moment where your brain suddenly fell asleep after the hype of the weekend had passed.

Peter Parker was experiencing a Monday quite unlike any other he’d ever had before in his life.

He was still fully awake. Buzzing, in fact – the adrenaline having gone to his head almost immediately afterwards.

Apparently, unscripted kisses and chocolate bars could do things to people.

The canteen seemed to have gone fuzzy all around him, unable to drag his eyes away from Michelle, as she stood in line to get her lunch, head stuck in a book, moving minimally as the line moved with her.

“I still don’t get it, though – she kissed you?” Ned asked, arms folded as he looked on with him. It felt like a flashback to his days gazing after Liz. Except Michelle was no Prom Queen, or popular girl among the student body. People generally avoided her for fear of ruffling her temper, and Peter supposed they did well to keep a wide berth around her.

“Mmm, yeah,” he mumbled, chin in hand as he pushed the food around with his fork in his other hand.

“Dude, that’s – that’s crazy. It’s Michelle –”

Peter laughed a little, smiling.

“Yeah, I know, Ned,”

She’d raised her head just a little, checking to see how far away she was from the food. Her satchel was slung on her shoulder, black jeans, boots and a large, white linen shirt complimenting her dark skin. A cardigan was wrapped around her waist, her hair left loose today, the messy curls freefalling down her back, corkscrew spirals bombastic in amongst the sea of straight hair the other students possessed.

He thought she looked so much better for it.

“Don’t you think you should stop staring? You know what it was like with Liz, right?”

Peter turned to look at him, brow furrowing.

“Ned – this is nothing like with Liz. Michelle, she – she’s… different?” he wasn’t sure how best to describe it. She certainly _was_ different, but not in the way he imagined people thought. She wasn’t quiet or bookish in the movie sense; she was loud and blunt and bookish in the _real-life_ sense, where she didn’t want people interrupting chapter 56 of whatever book she was reading. She believed in freedom and the empowerment of women, and the importance of protesting for better rights for the black community, and making a point of saying she didn’t fit into any category because she determined she wasn’t a part of _any_ of them.

She was little, but hell, was she fierce.

“Different – that’s your description? Dude, you can’t just decide you like her –”

“She kissed me, Ned! What should I do about that? Forget about it?”

Ned smirked at Peter’s bewildered expression, a worried tone to his voice.

“To avoid her impaling you on a stick – yeah, I would forget about it,”

Peter frowned, turning back to her, as he stabbed at the breaded chicken fillet on his plate. That chocolate bar had been super nice – how had she known he’d liked fruit and nut so much? Instinct? Lucky guess?

He froze – maybe, did she -?

No. He dismissed the thought immediately. Even he had tried to tone down the familiarity he had with her when he was Spider-Man; the more he gave away, the easier he was making it for her.

He wanted to tell her; she was his friend. He saw her like he saw Ned – as someone to laugh and talk and spend time with.

Just some girl.

Except, now he had admitted it to himself – he kind of did like her. Not in a fascination, who-the-hell-was-she way.

A crush way. An infatuated way.

The way he had been when Liz walked in the room.

Her books and her frown and her squints and mad hair and plain clothes and strange quotes and blunt responses. Her intelligence, and wit, and humour. Her everyday nature becoming something so electrifying and strange and _real_ that he could barely look at her with open eyes. Like –

He couldn’t even think of what to say.

Just _bright_. In so many ways.

Peter sighed, staring at the remainder of baked beans on his plate, scraping at the sauce on the edge of the plate, chin slumped in his hand, lips in a downward pout.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Peter jumped, whipping his head round to look at Ned, who alarmingly resembled a balloon about to burst as he tried to contain his laughter.

“What?! No! No, no - no way. You can’t be serious,”

“I think you should – just to see her reaction,”

“Now who wants me impaled on a stick?” Peter sniffed, turning back to look at her. Her book was tucked under her arm as she waited for her food, staring aimlessly around the canteen.

“You should stop staring though. It’s still creepy, you know.”

Peter sighed in response, resigned in his dilemma.

He couldn’t ever tell her – probably wouldn’t, even if he was dared.

“Yeah, I know, Ned,”

At that point she turned around, plate filled, and traipsed over to their table, taking a seat 3 chairs away from them.

Two less than she usually did. Peter stared, just as Ned nudged him, eyes wide in warning.

_Stop staring, dude!_

Michelle looked round at them both, as she slammed a whole other stack of books on the table, her current one, ‘ _Oroonoko_ ’, marked at about half way. Her fingers flipped it open, pulling out the bookmark and putting it at the back, just as she squinted at them both.

“Losers,” she shook her head, delving back into the story as Peter and Ned frowned in return.

“Why are you still sitting with us, then?”

Michelle snorted in response.

“Because you’re my friends,”

Peter’s heart fluttered a little, coughing as he scratched his neck.

Michelle narrowed her dark eyes at him, making him gaze on like a lovesick pre-schooler, eyes open and expression vacant, as he fought hard to appear disinterested.

By the curious look on her face, it didn’t seem to be working.

“Then why are you still sitting _away_ from us, then?” Ned looked amused, a slight curl to his lips as he continued his line of questioning, expression light but filled with contained laughter.

Michelle’s bored look softened, her eyes cast downward. Peter quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward.

She recovered almost immediately.

“Because you’re messy eaters, and I am not getting my books covered in baked beans because you both can’t keep a hold of your forks,”

Ned laughed out loud, just as he said,

“Peter wants you to sit with us,”

Peter froze, cursing Ned and his big mouth. Things just… _slipped out_ , and he only ever realized after the whole room had gone quiet.

Peter shoved him under the table, making Ned ‘ _oof’_ in shock, as Michelle glared at him from over her book. She looked positively livid.

Peter swallowed carefully, trying to find his voice.

“No, I don’t – no, well, _I do_ , just, you don’t have to –”

_Dammit, Peter. You sound even more like a moron than you normally do._

Sometimes he really wished his inner voice would shut up.

And just like that, Michelle had shoved her stack of books towards them, along with her tray, getting up out of her chair as she slid into the seat in front of them both - now in such close proximity that Peter prayed to any God out there that he’d remembered to put on a clean shirt and possibly some after-shave.

He sort of remembered doing that.

Sort of.

_Details. Dammit._

Michelle – no,  _MJ_ , his _friend_ , his other best friend – looked at him boredly, book lying open on the table.

“Satisfied, Parker?”

Peter nodded mutely, shoving a forkful of half-cold baked beans into his mouth by way of avoiding having to say anything. MJ raised an eyebrow, before dipping her head again, now entranced once more by her prose.

Ned glanced over at him, a smug look on his face.

 _Guy in the Chair_ , he mouthed back at him, and Peter nearly choked.

Man, he had to get this reigned in.

˟               ˟               ˟

Once the final bell rang, Peter waited for MJ to follow him out, planning to trek down to the library with her to continue working on their assignment. Peter was beginning to realize how appropriate the book was becoming to his life – trapped in a cycle of love and hate, unable to decipher how she felt about him, unable to understand how he should be around her.

Unable to decide whether he ought to tell her who he really was.

It was such a big thing to consider – Ned had been an accident, May had been an accident. He’d planned to tell them both eventually, but the circumstances had changed so drastically, and he’d had to spew the all –important ‘keep-it-a-secret’ reel, panicking way more than he’d planned in his head.

MJ wasn’t going to find out. He was going to tell her. Eventually.

It just begged so many questions – how would he even approach that subject?

How would he even begin to tell her that he was actually the web-slinging superhero who had saved people from getting run over or beat up? How could he even begin to explain how his senses had gone haywire, or that he had millions of tiny little hairs on his palms, making him climb walls and buildings?

How did he even begin to say ‘Hey, I’m Spider-Man’?

Peter sighed, watching as MJ packed up the last of her books. She gave him a quick glance out the door, as he slouched against the doorframe, hoodie a light grey that complimented his pale, blue checked shirt.

He smiled back at her, only to receive a small, insignificant smirk in return.

His temperature increased by about 30 degrees every time she looked his way, as they walked to the library.

˟               ˟               ˟

Michelle had to admit that spending so much time with Parker wasn’t as horrible as she’d originally thought.

Yes, the crush had yet to disappear, but she hardly expected it to now.

She supposed her previous actions that Saturday had been way out of line – who just kissed people out of nowhere? – but she wasn’t prepared to admit to it. Something told her that she wasn’t the only of them to have been more than surprised by it.

As time went on, she began to realize that she was acting more and more unlike herself as said crush got worse and worse, unable to think of Parker without immediately thinking of his soft sweaters and fluffy hair.

_God, I sound like a walking rom-com film._

As they turned into the next street, the library now only a mile or so away, Michelle dared a glance at him beside her.

He was walking casually, hands in his jean pockets as he sauntered along, head tipped back a little as he looked overhead, a whisper of a smile on his lips as the sun beat down on their skin, the sky bright and clear. It was amazing to think that this idiot was Spider-Man; that the dorky classmate she’d often dismissed as being just another guy was suddenly - probably -the most important guy in the city.

And yet here he was. Ambling along beside her, hair still mildly waved, figure strong but lithe, backpack slung over one shoulder as his scuffed sneakers navigated the busy sidewalk, stepping in closer to her as a mother and her young son pushed past. Michelle caught a flash of his aftershave, woodsy and light, like pinewood and musk, mixing in with something that seemed just _him_. She never paid much attention to aftershave – she never wore perfume herself – but she had to quietly admit to herself: Parker’s aftershave wasn’t half bad.

Peter looked back round at her as he went back to her side, flashing her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed, shrugging his bag strap onto his shoulder again.

Michelle just flashed him a smirk, sharp and cutting.

“I’ll leave you behind if you don’t watch where you’re going, Parker,”

He just laughed in return.

Michelle had never felt more at home.

She couldn’t understand how this had come on so quickly – that she suddenly wanted to be as close to him as she could, no matter how she pushed him away to retain some half-hearted notion of a cold image. She was growing tired of being alone all the time. Her solitude was always a great comfort to her – to be at peace with just herself, and not have to be crowded in with so many other people.

But being with Peter and Ned – sitting at that table, and listening to their lame jokes, and serious conversations, and watching them geek out over the newest Star Wars film or Doctor Who episode or something – it made her feel like she’d found a second family. Just a pair of people who felt right to sit with – who made her feel comfortable and at home.

She didn't like the idea of losing that. 

Finally making it to the library, they made their way to the table Michelle had sat at on Saturday, she once again taking out her books with a practiced indifference, trying to desperately avoid looking at Parker in such a way that would give him cause to look up.

Sliding into her seat, she twirled her pen around, watching as Peter flipped through his notes, glaring at the page as he tried to figure out where he’d left off. A curl of hair was hanging in his face, all the rest of it that had been swept back now falling in disarray across his forehead, in some quirky version of a quiff.

Biting her lip in annoyance, Michelle whipped open her book and found the next chapter, reading the first few lines to keep her head busy.

“OK, uh – found it,” Peter smiled up at her, grabbing his own pen as he jotted something down in the margin.

“Right, loser, let’s get to work.”

˟               ˟               ˟

The two of them had lapsed into a companionable silence as they scribbled in their chosen jotters, furiously scratching out all the lines that didn’t make sense. It was a hard way to go about doing the essay for Peter – he felt like he couldn’t daydream as he often did when doing it on his own, lest Michelle shoot him a frosty glare and make him freeze up in his seat, her gaze demanding he stop drifting off. She was serious about this stuff, so any kind of slacking, and Peter just knew she’d smack him over the head and tell him to concentrate.

Peter twirled his pen absently, staring at the paragraph he’d written – something about heroes being selfless. He couldn’t determine if he was writing this from a completely unbiased point of view – he was one of them himself. And trying not to let that show in his essay was proving difficult. How could he write this essay and not write how he _actually_ felt about the whole thing? It was all well and good for other people to consider what it might be like, but he was actually  _living_ it, and that’s where the differences began.

He knew what it was like to drag himself home, his shoulder screaming at him as the blood dripped down, trying to climb in through his window one handed as he shed the suit, limping to the shower as he caught a flash of his gaunt face, skin pale from loss of blood, shoulder looking like he’d been mauled by a tiger. Sure, he’d stopped the guy, but he did it all at a cost.

He knew what it felt like to sit on the rooftops and have to watch everything that was going on, even though his eyelids felt heavy and he knew he was barely surviving on a 7-hour sleep schedule, never mind a 5-hour one.

He knew what it was like to see his suit hung up in the wardrobe, his stomach jolting every time he realized that was technically his _job_ now.

He looked up at Michelle, her head dipped as she wrote on, curls falling into her face, obscuring her dark eyes.

“Hey, uh – what – what do you think of –Spider-Man?” he snapped the silence in half, Michelle’s head lifting at his stuttered question.

“What?” she snapped, clearly irritated by his interruption.

Peter laughed nervously, Michelle’s expression unimpressed.

“Oh, I was just, uh, curious – what you thought of him, cause, you know – he saved a whole bunch of people and it’s kind of relevant to the essay and stuff,”

“What does it matter to you?”

Peter froze, mouth open to answer before closing it again, trying to find the best way to answer that question.

“It’s relevant,” he repeated, smiling awkwardly. Michelle raised an eyebrow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“He’s OK, I guess. The whole hero thing doesn’t really do it for me,” her smile was sarcastic.

Peter laughed again.

“Oh, right – so no superhero crushes then? Right,”

“Never said that, Parker. He’s cool – he’s weird. But then – when is anybody normal these days? Or at least what people think is normal, anyways,”

Peter blinked.

“Weird?”

Michelle choked out a laugh, waving her hand. It gave him a sharp flashback to that time she’d waved him off before.

_I’m just kidding. I don’t care. Bye!_

“He climbs up walls in a spandex suit and shoots webs from his wrists – what part of that sounds normal, Parker?”

“It just seems a little harsh, is all,”

“Harsh, my ass. He’s a superhero – harsh is what he deals with,”

He couldn’t exactly argue that.

Michelle’s head dipped again, her eyes staring at the page as she propped her chin in her hand.

“But, yeah – he’s cool,”

Her voice had gotten softer, her tone slightly less blunt than usual – like she’d only confessed it because it was only him here.

He knew ‘cool’ was implying a lot more than she was letting on.

He smiled to himself, running a hand through his hair, feeling the softest of blushes bloom on his cheeks.

“Right,”

“He just does it for the people, you know? No glory. He’s just there because he knows he can help people out. That’s why,”

Her addition startled him out of his reverie, but he was glad of it.

“Right,” he couldn’t think of what else to say. So he just stuck to simple, as he tried to fight down the blush.

He was half-tempted to thank her, just to let her - maybe - get some bright sparkle in her eyes as she realized he’d told her.

Man, he was considering it so much. She’d get that hint. He _knew_ she would.

But he just couldn’t. Not yet.

They continued writing, both glancing up at each other one last time, only to catch the other one looking. They both smiled, turning back to their papers.

Such smiles never went unnoticed.

˟               ˟               ˟

Having left Michelle in no doubt that he could be suave (sometimes), Peter left the library, bidding her goodbye as she saluted at him, her head still in her book.

Racing across the road, slipping in behind his dumpster, he donned the suit, tightening it around his frame once he’d webbed his backpack to the wall, this time checking how well it’d stick for the next few hours. He was slowly working on a new formula, hopefully with a longer sticking time, but it was a very slow work-in-progress.

Webbing up onto the nearest rooftop, he peered out over it, into the heart of New York, spread out before him. Time for the big city, then.

He was there in minutes, swinging in amongst the traffic as he looped around, civilians waving at him from the sidewalk. He saluted them back as he swung round the corner.

It seemed fairly quiet today – some days were like that, though. Nothing much happened, meaning his job felt more like a hobby. He appreciated that – it gave him more of a break, able to be a little more interactive with the civilians rather than just zipping away again without so much as a hello, having already seen another crime taking place. As he dropped down on top of some coffee shop’s roof, he caught sight of a little girl sitting on a bench, swinging her legs idly, face pouty as she looked from side to side, clearly annoyed – or upset – about something.

Huh.

Swooping down to land in front of her, he tilted his head as he draped his arms over his legs, bent down low so he could look up at her.

“Everything alright, kiddo?”

She shook her head vigourously, pushing her fingers together as she avoided his gaze.

“You lose your mom?”

The little girl looked at him, black, curly hair tied up in two buns on her head, a summer dress on her slight frame. She didn’t look any older than 7.

She nodded once.

“Yeah.”

“Aww, bad luck. You want me to help you find her?” he offered her his hand, which she stared at quizzically.

“Mom told me not to talk to strangers, you know,” she said proudly, turning away her face.

Peter laughed, impressed. These kids these days had good heads on them.

“Good advice. But I’m not a stranger – I’m Spider-Man! Here to help,” he smiled underneath the mask, eyes open wide, in what he hoped was a friendly look.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, taking his hand tentatively, her gaze curious. His fingers curled around her slight hand, giving it a little shake.

“It’s gonna be fine, bud. Where’d you last see her?”

She pointed in the direction of the street, downwards towards the grocery store.

“Sure thing – let’s go!”

They began walking down the street, Peter making some effort to talk to her. Good thing he had some familiarity in this situation – he’d lost May before, multiple times when he'd been younger, as his mind had wandered off. He’d always been told to go to the till, but he still understood the nature of it. Losing that safety at such a young age could send plenty of kids into a spiraling panic, unsure what to do with themselves.

“You got any hobbies, kid?”

She nodded, looking out around the street as they walked, her face still a little worried. He could see people on the street giving him strange looks as he walked past, until they saw the girl beside him, each face melting into one of understanding.

“Reading,”

“Hey, I have a friend who loves reading! You got any favourite books?”

“Harry Potter. Mom reads it to me. I want to read it myself, though,”

“Awesome. I’m sure you’ll be able to soon. Hey, is this the store?”

Her head turned to look, just as she pointed excitedly at the front door.

“Mom’s there!”

Peter looked up to, eyes narrowing as he saw a woman standing out front, calling the girls name. 'Sadie', it seemed.

Taking her over, he failed to notice Michelle, who had just emerged from the store as well, a bag in one hand, hair now pulled back in a messy bun since their time at the library.

“Uh, Ma’am? I think this is your daughter,”

The woman turned to look, expression guarded as she looked at him, until she saw her daughter holding his hand.

“She got lost, so – I said I’d help her find you,”

Her mother bent down, taking her face in her hands.

“Where’d you get off to, monkey? I told you to stick by my side,”

Sadie muttered something about an accident, but her mom swept her up in a hug, standing up again, Sadie in her arms. She'd only been at the end of the street, but it could still feel like miles to a kid. 

“Thank you,” she said to him, a gentle smile on her face. It was at times like this that Peter realized how honestly _glad_ he was to have this job. He felt like he was making a real change here – helping out people with all the small, normal, sometimes worrying everyday problems that happened way too often on a daily basis. Losing their kid; forgetting a shopping bag; getting their car stolen; being robbed; helping elderly people cross the road.

Even the stupid stuff too – a box too heavy for someone, or perhaps needing directions for someplace they weren’t familiar with. Giving out autographs or letting a child have a picture and a high-five.

It made the job worth doing. It made it feel special. What he couldn’t do as Peter Parker, average high schooler, he could do as Spider-Man.

He felt like he was actually trying, where so many others would run away from the fight.

Michelle watched on as Spider-Man talked to the young girl, now in her mother’s arms, as he gave her a high-five, enthusiastically showing her his web-shooters as she smiled on, a big tooth missing from her top row of teeth.

It seemed odd.

There he was again. Peter Parker.

She’d literally seen him 20 minutes ago, sitting across from her in the library, hair yet again a rumpled mess and checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing rather strong forearms that’d made her look away again, trying to reign in her emotions.

And here he was now, having helped a young girl find her mom. It was extraordinary. Kind of crazy, sure – almost insane that he was strolling about, trying to keep said double life under the radar – but it gave her some little glow of pride for him.

He was such a _good_ person. Good in the sense that he seemed immeasurably selfless, consistently kind.

Kindness was so _rare_.

Just as he turned around, saluting the girl goodbye, he stopped to see Michelle standing in front of him, shopping bag in hand, a sly smile on her face.

“Yo,” she quipped, brushing back her curls from her face.

“Hey,” he chirped, making a move to run his hand through his hair, until he realized he was wearing the mask.

“Are you – are you good?”

“You literally saw me two days ago,”

“Uh, yeah,”

Michelle smirked, until she blinked once, smile disappearing.

“Saturday meant nothing,” she blurted, folding her arms defensively.

Peter’s mind whirred, blinking in the mask, the mechanics of the eyes narrowing as he squinted in confusion.

“What?”

“Saturday. Chocolate. Window. That ‘scene’, idiot,”

“Scene? What, I don’t understand –“

“It meant nothing. Just thank you. Continue to not be a dumbass.”

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing past his, as she walked on, hips swaying ever so slightly, hair waving as she walked. Peter stared after just, blinking way too much as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Saturday? What had happened -?

_Oh._

_Saturday._

Peter’s limbs suddenly went into overload, as he tripped over his feet, reaching out a hand.

“Michelle, wait! I can – it’s not – aaand she’s gone,” he muttered, kicking his foot against the pavement, swiveling on his heel in frustration.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed. Remembering Saturday quite clearly now, he tore his hands down his face, groaning. Of course he had to forget the only thing he’d been thinking about all day, _just_ as she made a mention of it.

His life seriously sucked. His _memory_ seriously sucked.

This girl was handing him his _ass_ on a silver platter, for Christ’s sake.

Peter looked around the crowded street, people looking at him curiously, two teenagers walking past, spluttering into laughter as they watched him glance around like he was lost.

He saw an old man walk past, a casual gait on show.

“Hey, old man! Can I ask you a question?”

The old man turned around, white hair and dark sunglasses hiding a pair of bright eyes, a kooky grin on his face, dressed in a white linen suit.

“Go for it, son,”

“How’d you deal with girls?” He asked plaintively, his voice pitching higher as he gradually got more and more confused by what had just happened.

The man laughed, waving him off as he turned around again.

“No idea, kiddo!”

“But you’re like, seventy-four!” Peter cried back, waving his arms in exasperation.

“Ninety-four!” he yelled back, as he continued down the street, leaving Peter stranded in the street, still totally confused by Michelle’s behaviour.

Saturday didn’t matter?

His _ass._

What the hell did that even _mean_ anyway?

˟               ˟               ˟

Climbing in through his window, Peter stumbled into the kitchen, pulling his mask off as he did so, May unloading groceries from her shop.

“Oh, hey, sweetie! Productive night?”

Peter smiled wanly.

“Quiet, actually. Like, crazy quiet. Not even a shoplifter.”

May snorted, putting the two cartons of milk in the fridge.

“Wish it was like that every night,” she muttered, as Peter fell into the sofa, head sagging back against the cushions as he closed his eyes.

He was still confused.

“Hey, May?”

“Uh, yep?”

“How’d you know when a girl hates you?”

May laughed, as Peter turned around, looking over the back of the sofa as she took out the last of the groceries, the bright twinkle in her eyes undisguised by her glasses.

“It’s not funny, May,” Peter whined.

“Last time I checked, you and girls was always a funny situation,”

“Oh my God, May, don’t even say that,”

“Already have, honey,”

Peter sank back into the sofa as he fiddled with his web shooters. He was running kind of low on webbing – he’d need to make some more soon. Except it was super difficult to make said webbing when the Chemistry lab didn’t exactly have screens to disguise him very obviously _not_ looking at the board. He’d dived in dumpsters for so many things – like that DVD player that one time, which worked like a _dream_ – but he couldn’t do that for the answers he wanted about life.

“So, what has you asking about girls? What happened to Liz?”

Peter sighed.

“Liz moved. To Oregon. Cause of her Dad –”

He turned around, expression open.

“Cause he was the Vulture dude-”

“I remember the Vulture, Peter,”

“Ah, OK. But yeah – I can’t go out with her when she’s in Oregon.”

“You wanted to go out with her?”

“I went to Homecoming with her,”

“You were _supposed_ to go to Homecoming with her. You told me you bailed,”

Peter frowned.

“Oh, yeah. I did. Forgot about that,”

May laughed, beginning to slice up the bread for the dinner – hot sandwiches tonight. Peter was planning on having as many fillings as he could manage. Food was about all he could rely on these days.

“So who’s the new girl?”

Peter leaped over the back of the sofa, grabbing a t-shirt from over the laundry rack as he slapped his chest, the suit falling down around his shoulders. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, he picked the suit up, jogging to his room for his black track bottoms, shouting back into May.

“I think she hates me, though. Like – as Spider-Man. But I dunno if she likes me, like – as me?”

He yanked on the track bottoms as he stuffed the suit into his backpack, zipping it up again as he traipsed back into the kitchen, grabbing a slice as he walked past May to the fridge.

“Hands off, Parker junior!”

Peter laughed, bread in his mouth.

“Michelle,” he admitted, pouring himself a glass of milk.

“Michelle? Really?” May said, walking past him to the fridge, Peter making his way around the counter as he stood eating his slice of bread, unbuttered.

“MJ,” He clarified, as May began slicing up the fillings. Cheese, tomatoes, lettuce – anything that counted as suitable for a sandwich.

“This is new,” May smiled, Peter adopting a mock frown.

“She’s just a girl – in my class. You saw her - she's tall. Like, giraffe-tall. I’m catching up though. Oh, and she reads a lot.”

“She certainly seems very different from Liz,”

“Well, yeah. She’s MJ. She’s different from – well, everybody.”

“Sounds like true love,” May laughed, making Peter splutter out his drink, covering his mouth in apology. May looked up at him in annoyance.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, a smile breaking across his face.

“Sure you are, Peter,”

“It’s not true love, though!”

“Wasn’t it with Liz?”

Peter considered. Not in the joking sense that May meant it, no. But in a deep, honest infatuation way? Yeah. He guessed that was fair.

Liz had been his first real crush. Two years he’d spent pining after her. Two years of his life having gone out to a girl he thought he’d had no chance with. And then the powers came, and suddenly he was everywhere near her, actually _confessing_ to her, actually _going_ somewhere with her.

But then it had ended all too soon, and just as he’d felt he’d gotten to know her a little for who she _actually_ was, she’d went away to another state, probably never to be seen again.

“Uh, maybe? In a roundabout way? We never actually got to know each other that closely,”

May raised an eyebrow.

“What do you like about her?”

Peter thought for a moment. How did you explain something like this without sounding like some amateur poet?

“Her hair's pretty cool - it's always been curly. Like, crazy curly. It goes everywhere. She dresses really weird though,” he frowned, taking a drink of milk.

“Weird?”

“Lots of black and white.”

“Sounds sophisticated. She's in your classes, right?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Most of them, anyway. She’s academic Decathlon captain as well. Same as Liz.”

“You seem to have a type,” May couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice.

Peter choked, laughing.

“What? No! No, I don’t. She’s just… we’re friends. But I just kinda like her – a bit more than that? But just as a crush thing. I think.”

“Are you going to ask her?”

“No! She’d bite my head off. Which is why I think she sort of hates me. But how am I supposed to know?”

May sighed, setting down the knife she was slicing the tomatoes with, glasses perched on her nose as she looked at him. She brushed away his hair, looking up to the heavens as she tried to conjure an answer. If anyone knew, it was May.

“Well. Has she told you upfront that she hates you?”

“She calls me a loser. All the time. But she sits with us – Ned and me – at lunch. And we’re doing that project together.”

“Hmmmm.” May sighed again, propping her chin up in her hand.

“It seems to me that she actually pretty likes you. Maybe she’s just proud. I knew I was. But your Uncle Ben was too much of a jokester to keep me from being serious all the time. He brought out the fun side in me. So maybe you just need to make her see you’re just being friendly. She sounds – private. Introverted. Just be honest with her. She sounds like she appreciates honesty,”

Peter deadpanned, trying to keep a straight face.

“You trying to hint at something, May?”

May burst out laughing, ruffling his hair.

“No, baby. You don’t need to lay it all out for her. Honesty about Spider-Man is for further down the line. But just be yourself.”

“According to Ned, no one wants that.”

“Then prove him wrong. Girls like guys for being who they are. Providing they’re nice.”

“Right, May. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Sure thing, honey. Dinner’ll be ready in about 20 minutes, OK?”

“’K, May! Love you!” He made his way to his room, shutting the door behind him, pulling out some random calculus homework as he pulled out his chair, collapsing into it.

Maybe May was right.

She usually was.

˟               ˟               ˟

Hours later, Peter was still sat in his chair, mask on, after dinner. He’d pulled up the recording mode, flicking through all the stuff Karen had kept a track of in the past week.

“Hey, Karen, can you flip back to Saturday?”

“Why do you want to see Saturday, Peter?”

“Uh, no reason. Just something MJ said.”

Karen began to rewind back.

“Whoa, whoa! Stop there – yeah, just there.”

Karen obligingly paused.

He’d paused at Michelle’s window, except everything was upside down, something alarmingly strange to watch when he knew he was sitting upright.

“Yeah, yeah, play it from there.”

Peter watched as Michelle began re-enacting the encounter, handing him the chocolate bar, a firm expression on her face.

“Why did you want to see this part again, Peter?” Karen asked, voice at ease, as it always was.

“Just, uh – I wanted to see something.”

He watched with bated breath as recorded Michelle leaned in, brushing a kiss across his cheek. He could see everything he’d seen that day. The way the sun made her dark skin glow; how her curls brushed past his shoulder. How, even though he was seeing her face up the other way, she still seemed ridiculously pretty. As she leant back, he zoomed in on her expression.

She looked just a little shy about it.

Peter breathed out, sitting back in his chair.

“What was the significance of that moment?” Karen queried in the silence, as the footage changed to more scenery, as he swung out into the city again. Karen cut the footage, leaving his vision clear.

“I just wanted to see how she looked, is all. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Karen asked, a curious tone to her electronic voice.

Peter considered.

“Um… maybe not?”

“Do you like her?” Karen asked. She didn’t mean in the ‘friends’ way. 

Peter paused, thinking. Huh. Maybe he was in a lot deeper than _he_ even realized.

He smiled to himself under the mask.

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, reviews and kudos are always appreciated!


	7. The Questions (of Life)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response continues to be amazing, folks! And that is seriously a wonderful thing. Who knew Spideychelle could grow so quickly. I've been looking at the tag on Ao3 and it's grown astronomically ever since I started writing this. It's crazy to think how many people have written so much about two characters who have barely interacted with each other *laughs*
> 
> I seriously recommend listening to The Pierces for this chapter - preferably 'Kings' and 'You'll Be Mine'. 'Kings' has some great lyrics, like 'the heart of a lion, and the lips of a child' that just fits my image of Peter Parker very, very well, so tell me if you agree! Also You Can Find Me by Jess Glynne and Man Behind the Sun by Callum Beattie. The songs have been added to my ever growing Spotify playlist. 
> 
> This chapter is a little later than usual, but hopefully none the worse for it. So enjoy!

Gym class had never been an easy feat for Peter – having once been a lanky, weedy boy with more bone than muscle, it made sense that he’d immediately denounced it as hell on earth.

Nowadays, though?

Well, it was hard because he now had to disguise that it was probably way too _easy_ for him.

Ned, of course, thought it was hilarious – as he held his legs during their daily exercises, he joked aimlessly that it would be one perfect opportunity after another to suddenly display some great feat of strength, and use it to punch Flash’s nose in.

Peter wasn’t completely on board with that idea.

He’d thought about it, obviously. Flash was the bully who continually found new ways of making him look like an ass, but even so – his identity had to be kept a secret, even if his newfound strength somehow disagreed. He _knew_ he could punch Flash once and he’d fall right on his own behind, but he knew it wasn’t worth it. To have the whole school clamming around him, suddenly interested in him only _because_ he was Spider-Man?

Not because he was just himself?

Didn’t seem worth it _at all_.

“But dude – you’re amazing. The stuff you can do – bench press 10 times your weight, or climb up walls at the speed of light. Why is it better to just keep that a secret? Doesn’t it bother you that people still see you the same way?”

Peter sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued with the set of 15 crunches they were currently doing.

“Ned, it’s not – what I can and can’t do doesn’t matter. It’s not about that. It’s like –”

“Looking good, Parker.” Coach Wilson had strolled by, eyebrow quirked in a more confused way than last time. Even for all his obliviousness, surely by now he was beginning to realize that Parker was currently looking completely fine compared to the other students, not even a loss of breath or slight perspiration on his forehead?

Who knew. Certainly not Coach Wilson.

Peter grimaced, slowing down as he pulled what he hoped looked like a pained face. Ned raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You’re still pretending?”

Peter shot him a sharp glance.

“Well, yeah. I can’t exactly _not_ pretend,”

Ned shook his head.

“See, this is why I have so many issues with this-”

“Ned, there aren’t as many issues as you think -”

“But you’re Spider-Man!”

“Say it a little louder, Ned, I don’t think the _entire gym class_ heard you,”

Ned snorted good-naturedly, lips quirking in a confident smirk.

“They’ll find out eventually, you know. Everyone always does. Don’t you ever see it in the comic books? The hero always reveals his identity in a crisis, cause his mask gets ripped or something –”

“There is no way my mask is getting ripped. Mr Stark made sure of that,”

“Yeah, well – then you take it off in a minute of crisis to get the point across-”

“Because they’re definitely going to take instructions from me over Spider-Man,” Peter couldn’t believe it. Did Ned seriously think that they would trust him over some famed, respected, but ultimately anonymous superhero?

If he took the mask off, they'd think he was just dressing up, and confirm that he was even weirder than they'd originally thought. 

Yeah. No.

Ned sighed, just as Peter came up for the final crunch, shoulders sagging in relief. Acting that it was tough was actually harder than when it _was_ tough. The bell resounded around them, students being none too slow about jumping up and streaking for the changing rooms, glad to get away from Coach Wilson’s monotonous instructions. Ned stood up, Peter jumping up beside him, as they made their way with the rest of the class. Peter caught a glimpse of curly brown hair, the lightest purple streak weaving in amongst the dark curls, head dipped as she read her book. Once again, she’d been using it in favour of actual weights, but he supposed _Our Mutual Friend_ seemed fairly heavy anyways.

Sometimes he just couldn’t help but look at her.

It was like now, after having finally admitted it to himself, his eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from her figure. How she casually brushed curls from her face or nibbled her lip in concentration as her eyes roamed the page, or how she sometimes crossed her legs, one over the other, as she bench pressed said tome of a novel.

Michelle had suddenly become herself, electrified by every little gesture and habit he knew her for. Like she was practically glowing.

Ned shoved him in the ribs, making him yelp in surprise.

“You’re staring again,”

“What? No – I-I’m not. I’m not staring. Why would I be staring?”

“Because you’re totally head over heels for her. It’s hilarious, watching you cope with your romantic emotions all over again,”

Peter shoved him back, just as Ned walked on ahead, giving Peter one last glimpse of Michelle as she disappeared into the girls’ changing rooms.

Ned wasn’t wrong.

He felt like he’d tumbled over and landed on his back, staring up at the sun, only to find it more blindingly beautiful than he could ever remember.

Falling in love was always such a surprise. No one ever seemed to see it coming.

Peter smirked, running to catch up with Ned, ruffling his hair.

Who knew some crazy-haired book nerd, with apparently an answer for everything, would turn his head so quickly?

Certainly not him.

˟               ˟               ˟

English class was still a total bore for Michelle as she reached chapter 13 of the second volume, in _Our Mutual Friend_ , half-glancing between the page and the board, Mr Richards currently explaining how Nelly served as the key narrator for the story, weaving the events into the mind’s eye for the reader. Michelle often wondered why Emily had chosen to do that – to afford the burden of telling the tale of two people, one still alive, to someone else entirely. Was it for an unbiased look? As a way to afford a voice to her instead?

Possibly. Michelle felt that way about a lot of things.

That she somehow could know everything about Peter Parker’s life, and yet not be allowed to tell the story she’d put together in her head. She knew there was no entitlement to be had there – that his life was his, no matter how observant she managed to be, but it just felt like she was being excluded from a group she felt she ought to be in.

Yes. Michelle had to admit that to herself.

She wanted to be with Peter and Ned. She wanted to be that friend to them. Not just the girl who now openly sat with them at lunch and quizzed them at Decathlon practice.

She wanted to be the one to hang out with them. To watch movies, and go out places, and sleep over, and debate politics, and argue over representation in the sci-fi genre.

She wanted those things, yet seemed unable to make herself a part of that story.

Not in the way she wanted.

Today - as she let her gaze glance over her classmate once more - Parker had opted for a dark navy shirt and black jeans, the collar slightly rumpled. His hair was back to being neat and tidy, swept back at the front with his signature gel, but the hair was still curling around his ears and his nape.

She missed the waves, if she was being honest.

“So, how are the essays coming along? Any thoughts so far?” Mr Richards snapped Michelle out of her daydream, making her drop her book on the table with a resounding thunk, Dickens’ tome too heavy to go unnoticed.

“Michelle, try to read when you’re _not_ in my class,” he called back, shaking his head in annoyance. Michelle held back the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

The class remained quiet.

“Oh, come on – you’re telling me you’ve spent a weekend on this so far and you still don’t know what to say? Christ above, you lot,” He leaned against the front of his desk.

“Right. Leeds! Thoughts,”

Ned snapped to attention, having previously looked to be dozing, mouth open in a half-adorable, half-gross expression, like that of a goldfish. 

“Uh, yes sir!”

Mr Richards waved his hand in the universal sign for ‘Well?’

“Uh –” Ned grasped for an idea, looking like he was trying to squint at the sun.

Michelle rolled her eyes, as she too slumped back in her chair, folding her arms as nonchalantly as she could manage without it seeming rebellious. Hell knew if she often came across as such.

“Spider-Man is a hero?” Ned offered, and Michelle’s shoulders dropped in disbelief, a groan nearly escaping her mouth.

Could the guy literally think of nothing else?

Mr Richards narrowed his eyes in confusion, clearly missing the relevance of that statement as well.

“Well, yes Leeds – that’s true, but-”

“I’m not so sure, sir. Does he even count as an Avenger?” Flash Thompson seemed to have decided that he needed to be a part of the conversation, as egotistical, bullying morons often did.

“Yes!” Seymour shouted from Michelle’s left, an impassioned look shot Flash’s way.

“What a surprise that you say that, O’Reilly,” someone else called, and the whole class burst out laughing, Seymour shaking his head in annoyance.

“Thanks, guys. Really appreciate the support,” he muttered, laughing along with them after a second. Flash continued.

“Did he even make the Avengers? Was he even offered a place?”

“He saved your life, dumbass! What more do you want?” Cindy had piped up, Mr Richards now standing like he’d walked into the room having abruptly caught fire.

“Class, pipe down! It’s a totally different issue whether or not our local superhero counts as an official member of a team that was severely scrutinized and reviewed by the state,”

“Yeah, but I don’t see him making a statement about it.”

Mr Richards fixed a hard eye on Flash, fingers tapping against the desk behind him. He did not look amused by his outburst.

“I don’t recall that you had any more knowledge about him than the rest of us, Mr Thompson,”

Flash put his hands up in mock surrender, snorting.

“No offence intended at all, sir. I’m just saying – he’s not a true Avenger, so –?”

Michelle watched this whole scene play out with her eyes on Peter, whose back had now stiffened to resemble that of a plank, eyes darting from one person to the next as the debate broke out. It wasn’t uncommon for Mr Richards to allow them to openly debate topics out loud; it gave a sense of freedom and an open voice for opinion amongst the students. But Peter had remained silent, and surprisingly, Ned as well – he was currently watching it with a slightly dazed but definitely guarded look, glancing at Peter as he watched his classmates.

Michelle wondered for a moment what it might be like – to have your class debate how honestly they felt you deserved to be called a hero.

Of course, none of them realized that he was sitting among them, hearing every word they said, having to turn it over in his mind, in silence, as he tried to discern how much they actually cared about him, or looked up to him.

So far, he looked pretty worried.

“How the hell can you be so sure, Flash?”

The words had escaped her mouth before she’d even realized she’d said them, and when Michelle realized that it had in fact been her, her eyes widened, nearly tearing out the page she was preparing the turn over in her novel.

Flash turned to look back at her, incredulous expression made smug by his sceptical eyebrow raised, mouth curled in sadistic smirk.

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that, Jones?”

Michelle’s eyes narrowed, tilting her chin upward, as she prepared for battle.

“That’s Captain to you, Thompson.”

He snorted in response.

“Oooh, touchy. You in love with him then?” the smirk had gotten wider, making her cringe. Sassy one-liners couldn’t save her here. Even Mr Richards was looking on with a worried interest, concerned partly for Flash being so openly rude, but no doubt preparing to shut him down once Michelle answered the question.

Sometimes, Michelle felt Flash Thompson needed to have his nose broken, preferably along with his teeth.

She was vaguely aware of the fact that Peter had turned to look at her, a rather shocked expression on his face, one wave of hair curling over his forehead, eyes wide in curiosity, and –she supposed –

 _Concern_.

Did he really care what she thought of him?

Honestly?

She tried to ignore him, directing her full attention to Flash, who was still wearing that smirk like he’d already won the argument.

“I think we can all vouch for the fact that O’Reilly has the crush, not me, loser.”

Seymour shouted a “Heck yes!” into the offending silence, making another ripple of laughter float between the students.

“Interesting though that you seem to think helping people doesn’t already make someone a hero, when you can barely scratch your ass without thinking it should be written about in the school newspaper. He’s selfless, idiot – that’s more heroic than anything. He’s helping the little guy – the ones those Avengers often forget about. So yeah – he’s a hero. I don’t see anyone else disputing it; do you?”

She quirked her sharpest eyebrow back at him, chin still tilted up in that victorious pose that made people think they’d already lost before they’d begun the fight. Flash looked suitably offended, if not also a little shocked, like he’d repeatedly been slapped across the face.

He probably deserved that was well, if Michelle was being honest.

“Alright, class – enough. Flash – if you don’t stop shouting out, I’m going to send you to the Office. Smart-ass comments get you nowhere, especially when you’ve got Spider-Man to thank for said behind that you sit on,”

Flash scowled back up at him, but remained silent.

Michelle looked down at her book again, trying to remember the last line she’d read. It was no use. The adrenaline that was still in her veins from her argument with Flash was making her fidgety.

As she looked up, she caught sight of Parker, who was staring at her like he couldn’t understand how she was there, never mind that she’d just said what she had.

He looked so raw in that moment – eyes glaring at her without shame, almost too deep to comprehend, lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

Michelle stared right back, just as her attitude kicked back in and she flipped him one, mouthing ‘ _eyes front, loser_ ’ back at him, making him scrunch up his nose in annoyance, turning back to the board, all shock leaving his face.

Even as she found her line again on the page, Michelle couldn’t stop seeing his gaze flash across her mind.

˟               ˟               ˟

By the time the last bell went, Peter had already disappeared, leaving Michelle to take the journey to his flat alone. She already knew he’d rushed off to play superhero again, swinging about the rooftops as he went about helping the people down below. The April heat was still ever present, beating down on her back as she strolled along the sidewalk, book in hand, satchel hitting against her leg with every step. She was still kitted out in her black, white and brown ensemble that she usually went for, a dark brown, cord skirt and long sleeved, white t-shirt with her black jacket, hair a more tamed mess than it usually was.

Today, however, she’d been wearing one thing she’d never worn in all her life.

Michelle Jones had nothing against dressing up – she even had dresses, although the thought sometimes disturbed her.

But she’d put on the faintest, bronze lipstick – a sort of rustic orange that was practically invisible on her lips, but made them glitter when she turned her head to the sun. She’d stood in front of her mirror that day, tying her hair back carelessly as she always did, and then she’d glanced at the lipstick she’d left out.

It had been a late night decision. She’d told herself she’d put it on in the morning.

Her morning self had instantly dismissed the idea, electing to ignore the offending item.

But in some haphazard change of mind, she had swiped it on quickly, choosing not to think about it as she rushed out the door. Nobody had commented on it.

Nobody in school. Not one member of the Decathlon team.

And certainly not the guy she _knew_ she’d put it on for.

Michelle hated herself for ever having had the idea in the first place. She was always determined to be herself _for_ herself – to dress up for herself, to go places for herself, to read and go to parties for herself.

Yet in that moment, she’d chosen to wear lipstick on some off chance that Peter Parker would notice the shimmery bronze hue to her lips, like as if he would even be looking there.

She snorted to herself as she crossed the road, coming to the apartment block once more, buzzing herself in.

It was so highly illogical. She’d seen it happen before, in many of her several observant moments. Girls who, in the absence of their usual intelligence, chased after the guy who looked anywhere but them. Who wore lipstick for no reason, and tried to be in the same room as him.

She didn’t judge them. She was doing the exact thing right now – everybody did stupid things when they thought they were in love.

Michelle didn’t know if she was.

She _knew_ she liked him. Even as she reached the 7 th floor, walking round to the Parker’s door, she knew she was totally entranced by him. No matter how she stuck her tongue out at him like a petulant child, and snidely called him names, and made faces at his geeky arguments, and dropped rude remarks about how she felt about being near him - she truly, honestly liked him.

Peter Parker. The dude who literally did nothing else but talk and fumble through life.

Peter Parker, the boy who suddenly became a superhero at a moment’s notice and began saving lives.

Peter Parker, the guy who was running off with her heart in his back pocket, certainly not stopping or slowing down.

His life was a whirlwind of action and heroics and adrenaline, never ending and constantly racing ahead, giving him so little time for anything. Michelle knew it. She knew _him_.

But she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Peter didn’t like her that way – at least she didn’t think so. He was still wondering about Liz, like others often did when their crush suddenly upped and left.

Sometimes she severely wished that Liz would come back and just put her out of her misery. Seeing your crush in a relationship always made you drop said crush quicker than you’d picked it up. It just _left_.

Michelle wanted her feelings to leave right now. She’d had enough of staring at his perfect teeth and wavy hair and broad shoulders and comfy sweaters.

May opened the door with a jovial smile, letting her in.

“Great to see you again, Michelle! Good day at school?”

Michelle smiled up at her, incapable of remaining straight faced around Peter’s aunt. She just radiated motherly affection and goodness, without feeling like she was trying to suffocate you.

“Yeah, it was fine, May. Same as usual,”

“Always is, I’m afraid. You want anything to eat? There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge,”

Michelle shook her head. She knew well enough that the Parkers, whilst not entirely broke, were also not swimming in money either, with May working her ass off just to keep the place.

“I’m alright thanks. I’m just gonna – set my stuff in Peter’s room,”

May nodded, although there was a slight glint to her eyes that suggested she did not wholly take her at her word. May Parker may be kind, but she was no idiot – she was far more shrewd than many gave her credit for.

“Sure thing, honey. You just tell me if you need anything. Peter should be along soon. He’s probably hung back with Ned or something,”

Michelle knew full well that he was not, and she realized May knew that as well.

Huh. So the idiot couldn’t even keep it a secret from his aunt either.

Michelle smirked. Man, she liked this woman more every day.

˟               ˟               ˟

Dumping her bag on Peter’s bed, she shucked her jacket and tossed it beside her satchel, pulling out her essay as she skim read the introduction again. It was only a draft – Michelle was a slave to perfectionism – but it was good. She was surprising even herself with how well it sounded. Usually it took another draft before it started sounding exactly like how she wanted it.

Working with Peter seemed to be making this labour of love a lot easier – he gave ideas readily, even if they were a little rocky and a bit irrelevant at times. He was a science nerd at heart, but he got the text way better than many others would.

She sighed, tapping her lips absently as she thought. The lipstick came off in faint smudges, making her stare at her fingers. It was already fading with having worn it all day, but it was still obvious enough to see she was wearing it.

Was this all for nothing?

She had no idea.

“Michelle?”

The voice startled her out of her reverie, making her look to the window, left open to air the room out.

And lo and behold, Spider-Man was hanging upside down outside, his head tilted in confusion.

“Man, Spider-Butt - chill, would you?”

He saluted in apology.

“Got it. What are you even _doing_ here?”

Michelle leaned back, narrowing her eyes at him, tempted to tell him she was over here to help him with his essay, just to freak him out and make him lose a grip on his web. A purely malicious intention, but she held back. Now was not the time.

‘Now’ _never_ seemed to be the time, but she figured that was just her cowardly side – unjustly so - showing through. Michelle was of the opinion everyone was a coward, but that only select people could be brave. She’d read a lot on the subject – how people could determine themselves how brave they felt they could be. To see if they could understand the level of danger or imminent threat it took before they put themselves out on the front line, for once running towards it rather than away from it.

She had already decided that Peter Parker would have run to it before anyone else.

As she stared at him, leaving him hanging in silence, she knew in her heart that he hadn’t always been so majestically ballsy. He’d been a weak and frail child, with a profile of chronic tearing up at everything in sight. He’d been a _strange_ child – a boy prone to wanting to protect things but never feeling like he was the person who ought to step up to the task.

Peter Parker had perhaps felt like the last person on the earth who ought to be a superhero.

Perhaps he’d even thought it a joke when it had first happened.

She didn’t know. He’d never said. Because that was a question that happened _after_ he told her.

When he told her. If he _ever_ did.

“Why would you care?” she asked absently, still thinking internally. She didn’t care if he _did_ care, because she knew, no matter what happened or who said what or who cared about what, he could very easily let everything slip accidentally and she could mockingly feign surprise and shock.

But that wasn’t the point.

She wanted Peter Parker to take her into some corner and whisper it in her ear like some secret he knew he shouldn’t really let go.

She wanted so many things from him that it all became a nonsense the minute she even looked down that path.

For all her intelligence and hard-won act of indifference, Michelle had never been the girl exempt from the dreams of every other girl she knew and sometimes wished she was.

Yes. Michelle sometimes wished she could be so open about how she felt. To be so quick to admit how much she liked him. Somewhere amongst all her disdain and candid remarks, she wanted some other girl to confide in. She wanted to tell them all about this boy on her mind.

It was ridiculous and so very  _unlike_  her.

Really, she wanted Liz back, to talk to her about it. Because Liz was such an absence in her life - she missed her like she would've missed a limb. 

But she couldn't have that either. 

So instead, she had to leave her own head to it.

She had to leave her head to wander at 2am in the morning, staring at the ceiling, as she tried to imagine what his hand might feel like around hers or what his eyes might look like in the half-light of the city through her window, as his gaze contemplated a kiss and his mouth contemplated more.

She wanted things that she knew she couldn’t have, but couldn’t help but wonder about. Even when she saw him, even when she kept her view of him obscured by her book, she couldn’t rid herself of the images she had of him in her mind. She couldn’t eradicate her fabricated memories of what his lips felt like, kissing her like he was trying to kiss a rose’s petals, or how he held her like he was trying to keep the light from drowning in the darkness.

Her memories of things that never happened, happened in dark rooms where he was only alone with her, and yet – it was never to happen.

Peter Parker did not come to dark rooms. Michelle stayed in them, refusing to leave the comfort it brought her.

“I don’t care!” he exclaimed, waving his hand exaggeratedly, once again snapping her from her daydreaming. She really had to start paying better attention. “Just – this isn’t your house.”

“Mmmm,” Michelle said, the sarcasm in her voice more than evident. She was just messing with him at this point.

She could tell almost instantly that he was getting agitated in that nervous way again, not sure if he remembered saying something wrong.

He waved his hand noncommittally, panic evident in his voice. Even sitting this close to the window, she could tell how much he acted like himself when in suit, not even bothering to disguise his little quirks or voice, and how it pitched higher when he fell into his endless cycle of being nervous around her, every time she said something.

“I swear I’m not stalking you,” he said, trying to sound as sincere as he could manage.

“Mmmhmm,” Michelle replied, lips pulled in a straight line as she raised her eyebrows higher, looking up at him with a look that suggested everything he needed to know.

She was not going to take him at his word anytime soon.

“Uh, well -” he seemed to be grappling for words as he looked left and right, eyes narrowing slightly as he evidently caught sight of something below him. He looked back round at her, saluting again.

“I gotta go – I’ll see you around. You’re waiting for Peter –Parker, right?”

Michelle grunted in reply.

“Right, yeah – I think I saw - him, down there. You know – on his way over. I’ll tell him you’re waiting for him!”

He swung off, the window showing his retreating figure as the thin thread of web hung empty outside the pane.

Michelle sniffed.

So much for that then.

Peter tumbled into his room 20 minutes later, face flushed, dressed in his slim-fit jeans and shirt, buttoned up slightly wrong but not enough to be noticeable. Michelle was currently sitting on the floor, a glass of orange juice on the ground beside her, as she quietly studied her notes, marking down the changes. She looked up at his entrance. His smile was wide and genuine, but also a little nervous.

“Michelle! Hey!”

“Hey, loser,”

“Sorry – for making you wait. There was a –thing, you know. It doesn’t matter. Ned’s coming over later so we only got a couple hours, but-”

“Whatever, Parker – this is my third glass of orange juice May has planted in my hand, let’s just get to it, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he nodded, dropping down in front of her, discreetly pushing down something in his backpack as he pulled out his books.

Michelle pretended to ignore it.

She also pretended to ignore how rosy his cheeks were, hair sticking up in odd places that she knew was caused by the mask.

She’d gotten good at ignoring things.

˟               ˟               ˟

“What am I going to do, Ned?”

“I dunno. What are you asking me for?”

Peter narrowed his eyes in a perfect rendition of the deadpan stare, making Ned just bark out in laughter, snorting into the mug of tea May had given him.

“I’m serious, dude. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t just keep pretending that I don’t – well, not that I don’t _care_ about her, just that I don't ‘like’ her _that_ way,”

“Actually, I think you need to keep doing that because I am not attending your funeral, after you tell her. We have finals coming up,”

Peter sighed, crossing his legs as he hung from the ceiling, giving him a strange view of Ned’s face.

“I can’t _not_ tell her though,”

Ned sniffed, taking a gulp of the tea –it was still slightly warm.

“Well, I mean – you can. You can or you can’t. But – don’t you think it’s just going to ruin the friendship she has with us now? I mean – suddenly we’re friends with her, Peter! Telling her you have a crush on her will make her pretend we never existed. _Forever_.”

Peter jumped down from the ceiling, landing softly in his sock-clad feet, pulling his sweater over his head as he scoured around for his pyjamas. Ned was staying over, meaning they’d catch the train together tomorrow morning, but it also meant that this conversation could go on for as long as Peter needed answers.

Meaning, a very, very long time.

“Did you notice what she was wearing today?”

The question was an absent one on Peter’s part – a feigned, random inquiry that he knew Ned wouldn’t pick up on.

Ned was great – the ultimate best friend – but he was also very oblivious, which was probably why they got on so well.

Peter wasn’t great at seeing the obvious either.

“No. Why?”

In an attempt to clear his throat discreetly, Peter took a gulp of his coffee, draining the last of it in one go.

“Just, uh – she was wearing – lipstick.” He turned to Ned, motioning to his mouth. “You know, lightly – like a bronzy colour,”

Ned raised an eyebrow, smirking curiously.

“A bronzy colour? Really, Peter? You’re paying attention to her lipstick now?”

“She never wears lipstick, Ned! That’s the point,” He hauled on his pyjama bottoms, tossing his jeans into an unceremonious heap on his chair, his shirt joining it as he pulled the top over his head.

“Ohhhh, right. I thought you meant she always did, you just noticed the colour.”

“No, Ned.”

Silence ensued for about a minute, Ned taking another sip of his tea.

“Why’d you look at her lipstick anyway?”

Peter groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation, flinging himself down in the chair. He pulled the clothes out from under him and flung them up on the top bunk – he’d fold them later.

“Because, Ned, I – look, I can’t -”

“You’re totally obsessed with her,” Ned snorted, smiling slightly. Peter looked up at him, gaze pained.

“I’m not obsessed with her! I’m just – these senses I have – they’ve made everything way too upfront and because I like her, I’m suddenly seeing everything with 10 times more clarity because my brain is now hardwiring itself to seek her out when she’s there,”

“That’s gross,”

Peter slid down in his chair, wiping his face with a hand.

“It’s annoying.”

“Just tell her then,”

“What?! No! I can’t do that, she’d – if she ever figured out I liked her she wouldn’t even let me near her again, never mind talk to her! You have to keep this a secret Ned. No more – _calling_ her over, and making _jokes_ about it, or –”

Ned held out a hand, expression composed. There were days when he seemed on the verge of being wise, but Peter could never be sure. Often it was the difference between him freaking out and Ned being calm. He wasn’t sure either of them could come off as being _wise_.

“Dude, chill. It’s just a crush. On our best friend…”

Peter looked ready to rant again, so Ned spoke over him as he opened his mouth.

“Which is _fine_. It’s fine. But you just have to decide, like – what you want to be to her. Like, do you want to be her friend?”

Peter nodded solemnly, stretching out his legs on the floor, heels digging into the wood.

“OK. So do you want to be her boyfriend?”

Ned said it so plainly, it seemed almost a natural question. Peter looked up at him, biting his lip.

Did he want to be that for Michelle? To hang out with her, and take her places, and hold her hand, and watch movies with her, and do all the weird, couple stuff that was probably all fake anyways, but that he _wanted_ despite that?

“I dunno, Ned, I – I guess so.”

Ned’s eyes widened.

“Wait, what?! I was sure you were gonna say no-"

Peter jumped up in his chair, eyes wide in panic.

“Well, I mean – yeah, I do, but I might not, you know? I can’t decide yet – that’s way too big a question, Ned, like – honestly. Just chill it with the whole boyfriend thing. I’m not even her close friend yet, alright?”

Ned let out the breath he’d been holding, drinking the last of his tea. He stared down into the cup, expression thoughtful; his eyebrows were knitted together in what looked like concern, but he didn’t look upset. Not from what Peter could tell.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know.” He looked up at him, a calm smile on his face. Yeah, he looked kind of wise now.

“Would you leave me out, though? Like, would I fall behind you both?”

Peter jumped up from his chair, coming to sit beside him.

“Hells no, Ned. Never. You’re my best friend, alright? You’re always gonna be my best friend. Who am I gonna talk to about Star Wars if I just leave you out?” Peter smiled hesitantly, kicking him playfully in the shin.

Ned let out a breathy laugh, placing his mug on the floor.

“Yeah, that’s true. I know way more about it that she could ever manage to tell you. I’m your Guy in the Chair, first and foremost, though.”

Peter held out a fist, Ned returning the gesture.

“Sure thing, man.”

They paused in thought, looking into his bedroom. The lamp was still on, casting the room in a soft, yellow light.

Peter turned to Ned again.

“Just one film before we go to sleep? It’s only ten,”

Ned smirked, nodding once.

“Of course. What else is there to do anyways?”

Where would he be without his Guy in the Chair?

 

(Ned answered that question fairly quickly: ‘Dead in a ditch somewhere.’ Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and kudos continue to make me smile, folks!


	8. Crushing Parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are asking really great questions about characters and setting, as well as elements of the story or universe that really give me some great food for thought. Continuity continues to be a pain in the ass, so if you see something that makes you go '????? - that can't be right', let me know!! I'll miss things in the long run, so having you guys point it out to me is always a massive help. Shoutout to neumann for pointing out the error in Chapter 6 - May had already met Michelle, so I changed that around. 
> 
> Some recommendations for this chapter: Ready or Not by Bridgit Mendler, Dancing on Quicksand by Bad Suns, Stay by Zedd and Alessia Cara, and High on Humans and Ultralife by Oh Wonder. 
> 
> They're perfect for the scene about halfway through this chapter - I went clichéd and added a party. It'll lead to some interesting revelations. 
> 
> Also, Peter Parker may end up looking more like Tom Holland in this chapter, so if you're looking for some understanding of his outfit, please reference these pics: 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/402579654181836296/
> 
> https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/AeeQY-9cGjocx_at_eAbLeggq9Kl6d69d3HrVRFcLV73NHTnxUmCVAw/
> 
> https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/442689838358372794/
> 
> https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/301670875030807238/
> 
> I have no particular ideas about it - I've described something or other, but feel free to imagine it how you want. All you need to know is that he looks great *laughs* Just go look up Tom Holland on Pinterest and go for whatever you like - just go crazy, kids. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Even with Ned’s somehow ‘wise’ advice, Peter sat at lunch the next day still in firm denial that he was ever going to confess to Michelle, even if the heavens split open and the Apocalypse came.

Dramatic, yes, but he was feeling a desperate need to be understood.

It didn’t matter if he did want to be her boyfriend or not.

It all seemed like too much of a foreign concept to him – one that made him wonder how ridiculous he looked when he gazed after her. Ned informed him he looked stupidly creepy, but that wasn’t really answering the question.

The idea of ‘boyfriend’ confused him a lot. It felt too much of clichéd term to actually be taken seriously, but at the same time, it was probably one of the most important relationships teenagers could have. Broadly speaking, the only understanding of romance that he’d seen for himself had been between May and Ben. Sure, it was a comfortable setting where he never really questioned how they felt about each other, but he’d always been aware of how openly _in love_ they’d been. They’d had their arguments, of course: where May, under so much stress from work and home life, had ended up crying, or when they’d argued over something that seemed so trivial the next day.

But they’d been in love. They’d flirted and laughed and had fun and _been_ fun to live with.

It was an insight into how love ought to be – how it often became so comfortable and natural, even when it did have its pitfalls in the road to being happy.

But this crush? _This_ stupid thing he’d latched onto?

Peter snorted to himself, as he pierced his fork into some of his chips, skewering them on the prongs.

Yeah, it still kind of scared him a little.

He’d never actually dated someone. Liz had been a crush that had actually come to something, but had then drifted away again without so much as a second glance.

It’d left him feeling like someone had cut a gaping hole out of his chest, expecting him not to bleed out.

He didn’t really appreciate that sentiment.

But he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice – Liz was gone. She wasn’t coming back. After her Dad had been thrown in jail, her mother had made the executive decision to move, Liz having to comply whether she’d wanted to or not. Peter still remembered her words to him:

_I hope you figure out whatever’s going on with you._

He somehow thought he’d yet to honour her parting advice, but maybe it wasn’t such an easy process in the long run. Figuring out his life? How to cope with being a superhero and a teenager?

Trying to figure out his newfound infatuation with Liz’s old teammate?

Yeah, this wasn’t going to be short _at all_.

Ned, sitting beside him as he mutely ate his lunch, watched as Michelle came over, tray joining their table as she slid into her seat, hand holding her book as her other multi-tasked. The light streaming in through the windows lit up her skin, making it glow like bronze, lips again painted in some faint, burnt orange lipstick. Peter couldn’t help it anymore – those little details were killing him. He couldn’t help but pick them out – how the collar of her white shirt stuck out at one side, or how she had a mole sitting right on the back of her forefinger’s knuckle, or how –

Wait –

“MJ, is that a – have you got a purple streak in your hair?”

Michelle’s head snapped up, gaze temporarily torn from her current book, ‘Men Explain Things to Me’. Peter had certainly never heard of it, but it seemed interesting; he really needed to start reading more.

Her gaze narrowed a little, just as he caught sight of the streak again – a soft violet against the raging curls of her hair, spiralling in amongst the dark brown. It was crazy – how hadn’t he noticed it before?

“Yeah. What about it?”

Ned looked slightly confused, not-so-subtly leaning forward to try and get a better glance at the said streak. Michelle shot him a confused look, just as she turned back to Peter. He had a coy smile on his face, running a quick hand through his hair.

“It’s really pretty. Weird I never noticed it before. It – it suits you,”

Michelle stared at him, her heart suddenly feeling very constrained inside her chest, book feeling heavy in her hand. She laid it down on the table, staring at him without so much as a glare on her face.

He stared right back, blinking once or twice at her in confusion – had he said something wrong?

Then, in some strange twist of fate – perhaps the world was being nice for a change – Michelle smiled.

It wasn’t the mocking smile she had, when she knew she’d said something so damning you’d be as well never coming into school again.

It certainly wasn’t the sharp smile she used when she’d won the argument.

It was some soft, genuine smile that seemed to make her eyes bright and her expression open – as if she was managing to not be cynical for the first time in her life.

“Thanks, loser,” she quipped, shaking her head a little in disbelief, the smile widening as she averted her eyes, hand holding down her page as the book remained on the table.

Peter stared on.

Ned continued to try to see the streak.

Michelle tried to concentrate on the words in front of her, but something was bothering her. Like something forcing her to look at it, just because it was just off the corner of her vision. Like it wouldn’t leave her alone until she made a point of remedying it.

She paused, looking up at him again. She noted how his hair had the gel in it again today, but he seemed to have purposefully left it a little untamed at the back, letting the waves go a little wild.

“Thanks - _Peter_ ,” she said again, something in her voice hitching when she used his name.

His eyes seemed to freeze, just as his face seemed to break out into a grin, all teeth and crinkles at his dark eyes, the irises suddenly looking a little coppery in the light.

Somehow, this light was casting too many things into the open as they looked at each other, Ned finally sitting down in satisfaction as he’d caught sight of the now infamous violet streak in Michelle’s hair.

“No problem, MJ. You should get another one, like – brighter. From the middle to the end.” He motioned at the crown of her head, right down to the tips of her curls.

He was still wearing that crazy grin. It was making her feel a little warm - like when you put on a sweater on a cold day.

“Maybe I will,” she said, tilting her chin up at little as she smirked, turning back to her book.

 _This boy was eating her heart out_.

˟               ˟               ˟

Decathlon practice that afternoon became yet another occasion for Flash to start advertising himself, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering that Flash felt he ought to be _on_ advertisements.

“This better be a good interruption on our break, Thompson,” Michelle snapped, irritated by the smug look on his face. He never seemed able to accept that his roguish behaviour – as well as being a downright bully to people – wasn’t winning him any points ever. Yet he still kept it up – if not for him, the whole ‘Penis Parker’ joke would have died down ages ago.

Flash was the only one determined to make a mockery of him – like some piñata that still hadn’t been hit enough.

Michelle actually thought it quietly hilarious that if the two ever were to engage in some reckless fistfight, Peter would floor him without even trying.

It still weirded her out that under the check shirts and ill-fitting gym uniform and big hoodies, Peter Parker was actually in the best shape of his life.

It also was messing with her temperature, but that was an entirely different problem.

“I’m having a party tonight – you’re all invited,”

Michelle raised an eyebrow, the rest of the Decathlon team looking at him with a mixture of contempt and confusion.

Sally was the first to speak.

“Seriously, Flash? _You’re_ inviting _us_?”

She didn’t sound the least bit convinced – Michelle admired her no-nonsense attitude; she never let anyone forget that she didn’t stand for false friendship.

He snorted in reply, legs propped up on another chair as he turned to her, study notes in hand.

“Duh. You’re the losers I literally spend my entire academic life with – if I don’t, I’m essentially saying that academic achievement means nothing to me,”

“Charming, Flash. And exactly what does that make us to you?”

Cindy didn’t sound impressed either. She was sitting at the edge of the stage, slender legs hanging out over it, clad in dark jeans and a gypsy top, denim jacket in a pile beside her. She was currently threading her laces through her shoes again, since she’d claimed they ‘weren’t threaded properly’ when she’d bought them.

Flash seemed stumped by this question, making Cindy smirk back at him, her smile reminiscent of a Queen having sentenced a prisoner to death, her dark hair falling around her shoulders in sheets, equally dark eyes calling him to war with her. She knew full well that Flash Thompson felt more than complete indifference towards them – but she was nothing if she wasn’t going to make him say it.

Michelle thought she looked a little pale, though. Like she’d been sick the day before.

He sighed furiously, shaking his head once as he turned away his gaze, looking at his feet.

“Maybe I just want you guys there, alright?”

The team seemed silenced, Cindy looking more than a little pleased she’d managed to get the confession so quickly.

Seymour seemed unsure.

“What, seriously? Even _Parker?_ ”

Peter’s head snapped out of his daydream, looking to Seymour.

“Huh?”

Flash barked out laughter.

“If he thinks he can make it without interrupting his hot date with Spider-Man, then sure,” his signature smirk had returned, but it looked a little strained.

Peter glared at him from the stand, just as Abe hit the bell.

“So you’re admitting we’re your friends?”

Some laughter rippled across the team, Seymour snorting into his water bottle as he took a gulp. Flash did not look impressed.

“Don’t be stupid, Seymour -”

The bell was hit again, Ned taking this opportunity.

“ _Is_ Peter your friend as well now?”

Peter shoved him in the ribs under the desk.

“No! I’m just saying you should come! Holy shit, man-”

“Language, Flash,” Mr Harrington had finally arrived, having been sick for nearly a week beforehand, with some stomach bug he’d tried to tell them about, the likes of which they wished they could forget about. The details had been horrifyingly unnecessary. 

“Sorry, sir,” he looked a little flustered, as he furiously stared down at his notes, making the rest of the Decathlon team try to choke back laughter.

Seymour hit the bell.

“Welcome back, sir,” he said enthusiastically. “Don’t tell us about the stomach bug again,”

Mr Harrington shook his head in disbelief.

“Yes, thank you, Seymour. Glad to be back.” He turned to Michelle, who was busy shuffling the cards with a purpose.

“Right, Michelle – let’s get going with the questions.”

Michelle nodded, looking to Peter and Ned.

“OK, first question –”

˟               ˟               ˟

After a very jumbled conversation on the way out of the main doors, as school finished that Wednesday, Peter and Ned had invited Michelle to meet up with them, under the condition that they both come wearing something a little more presentable that what they usually wore to school. It wasn’t that their style was bad, per se, but rather that:

“It looks like you can’t be assed to look good,”

Peter and Ned had glanced at each other behind her back, as they’d walked along, having agreed to take her home before both him and Ned went to his apartment to get ready.

“I resent that,” Peter said, smirking behind his mock frown. Michelle glared at him, brushing her hair back from her face. She had on black jeans and brown leather boots, laced up, with her white shirt and denim jacket over it, hair loose down her back.

Peter thought she looked gloriously like herself.

That was, to say – absolutely the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

Who even cared anymore – Michelle was intelligent and witty, yes - but she was _beautiful_. Yes, maybe not in the same way Liz had been.

But she just glowed in the April sunshine, like some honey coloured dream from the Greek Myths, hair untamed and tongue much the same.

He couldn’t help but stare at her.

He’d finally caught up on the inch again, after her having a grown a bit as well. But even as he walked along beside her, now exactly the same height, he had no doubt she’d gain that inch again and he would never catch up after that.

It seemed even MJ could beat him at stupid games like that as well.

“Then what do we wear? Because I am not coming in a suit, if that’s what you think,”

Michelle burst out laughing, biting her lip as she tried to contain it.

 _Shit, that was way too attractive,_ Peter thought, rolling his eyes to himself.

“Jesus Christ, Parker, no. I’m just saying – smarten up. Do your hair. I’m not turning up to a party with a dress on if you two are going to come like you’ve dressed in the same outfit from yesterday.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my fashion taste. And since when do _you_ care about _fashion_?” he pouted in annoyance, Ned laughing alongside.

“I’ll wear my hat,” he mused, just as they turned round the corner to Michelle’s apartment, leading her to the door.

She turned back to them, key in one hand, other holding the strap of her satchel.

“I don't - I just know how to decide when to give a crap. Whatever, you two. I’ll see you at 7.”

As she closed the door after her, Peter and Ned looked at each other, knowing exactly what they needed to do.

“May,” they said in unison, as they began walking the other way, now on the path to Peter’s apartment, hopefully with a certain Aunt ready to help the both of them.

Sometimes living with your aunt was a blessing on Earth.

˟               ˟               ˟

 

“A party? Like the one you went to at Liz’s that time?”

Peter nodded mutely, Ned along with him. May looked slightly confused by the pair of them, like she couldn’t decide if they were lying or not, because Peter and Ned were terrible liars. But this didn’t sound like one.

“Do you know what you’re wearing?”

Peter cast Ned a side glance, who was looking more bewildered by the moment.

“Well, we thought that – you know, _you_ could help us -”

May smirked, dumping the dishcloth she was holding on the counter, coming around to lean against it, arms folded.

“You want me to dress you?”

Peter’s eyes widened, blinking once.

“No, May! _God_ , no, I just -” He sighed heavily, putting his hands on his hips in defeat.

“MJ wanted me and Ned to try and – smarten up,” he said it like it was something to be embarrassed about, but May just smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“ _Right_ ,” she smiled.

Peter shook his head, folding his own arms to imitate her pose.

“Just – yeah, we need your help. Please?” He slapped his hands together in a prayer, teeth clenched in hope, which had May laughing, hands now on her hips as she came forward and fixed his collar.

“Right, both of you. Follow me. Let’s see can we make you both look like Hollywood movie stars,”

“Good luck with that,” Ned muttered, making Peter smirk back at him as they followed May from the room.

˟               ˟               ˟

At least an hour later, Peter and Ned stood in front of the mirror, staring at each other with looks of utter bewilderment. How May had managed it, they had no idea. They didn’t look like themselves.

“Peter,” Ned said, as he stared at his friend in the mirror.

“Uh, yeah?”

Peter felt something hot swirling in his stomach, the nerves making it plummet, as he continued to stare at himself, not sure if it was really Peter Parker staring back at him.

He’d never seen himself as attractive. He’d always thought he looked – well, just as _himself_. Peter Parker – stellar nerd and secret superhero.

Peter Parker – definitely not on the cover of Vogue anytime soon, or _ever_ , in his lifetime.

“We look amazing! MJ’s gonna be floored!” Ned looked way too excitable, but his bubbly enthusiasm was infectious, making Peter break out in a grin.

“She’s gonna be weirded out, that’s for sure,” he said, just as they burst into fits of laughter, snorting through their noses as they went to grab their jackets.

Tonight was certainly going to be interesting.

˟               ˟               ˟

Michelle had never been a person who kept time well – she often lost track of it as her literature tore her away from the real world, often zoning out of reality for such a long time that people used to have to shake her to say the bell had rung.

She was never a stickler for being on time. If people were a little late, it wasn’t an issue – things never started on their time anyways. Certainly not parties. People just arrived and then just _kept_ arriving. 

But standing out on a warm, spring evening, as people swarmed by - the lights of Flash’s house on outside, with her standing alone on the pavement by the tree in the street - wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined it all.

Michelle wasn’t all that savvy with parties – she never felt like she totally fit into them, since they were usually filled with the people that had rejected her friendship on the basis that she was making shit too real all the time.

Or something. She’d never fished for the details.

Yet looking down at her outfit, she didn’t know if that reasonably conveyed that message, since it absolutely looked like she’d made the biggest effort known to man.

Well. The biggest effort known to man for _Michelle_.

She’d found yet another dress she’d understandably stashed to the back of her closet, since she usually avoided the things in lieu of her long skirts and multiple pairs of jeans. It was a longish, bright, yellow-orange dress, coming down to just above her knee, coming in at the waist, with a fairly straight skirt. She’d opted for her denim jacket over it, the collar pulled up. She did not usually wear something this bright - especially one that had no pattern on it, with just a skinny, light brown leather belt around the waist for detail, the dress itself made of some chiffon-like material that floated around her legs when she moved.

She’d had no shoes for such an occasion, however. So she’d had to improvise.

She hoped to God that Peter and Ned had gotten the memo for ‘look smart’. No way was she standing here in this ridiculous – yet passably nice – dress, only for them to turn up in the same hoodies and checked shirts they'd only just got away with wearing for three days straight. 

(She secretly rather liked the dress, though – it warmed up her skin tone, making her dark eyes appear slightly golden in particular shades of light).

Just as she was preparing to turn around and leave, she saw May’s car pull up, clearly with the two boys inside, but it was too far away to see what they’d come in. May turned to what evidently was Peter in the seat beside her, muttering what looked like some advice he’d probably forget within the hour. He nodded once.

The car doors opened, and out stepped Peter and Ned, waving to May as she drove past, stepping into the evening light as Michelle watched from near the tree.

They caught sight of her, both grinning wildly as they jogged over to meet her.

And Michelle could barely believe her eyes.

Peter Parker and Ned Leeds did not look like Peter Parker and Ned Leeds.

They hadn’t abandoned their geeky nature – not at all – because they both were wearing clothes that looked mildly reminiscent of their normal attire.

But that was where the similarities ended.

It started off much the same at the bottom. Parker’s burgundy hi-top baseball shoes and dark, denim jeans, slim fit around his legs.

But something happened at the top and it was sending Michelle’s crush-induced brain into meltdown.

Parker had somehow decided (probably not of his own accord) that wearing a plain, dark t-shirt, tight around his frame, with a dark, coffee brown shirt, left open at the front, with a sculpted, brown, leather jacket thrown over his shoulders - the collar sitting up against his cheekbones - had been the way to go, but his hair was –

His hair was _amazing_. She had to outright admit it.

It’d been styled and swept over, the natural waves in their full glory, left to run wild on his head, as they fell about the side of his face, stray locks sitting raised in the great wave that had been brushed back. He looked like some old style rockstar from the sixties, except modern and real and here and - 

Michelle tried to remember how she breathed. 

His hands were shoved in his jean pockets, nervously shifting on his feet.

“Hey,” he tried, smiling gently, instead looking down at her feet. Her dress was shocking, to say the least –bright and outrageous, but beautiful in that truly unique, Michelle way.

But she’d somehow partnered it with the most fanatical, vibrant, lemon yellow DM boots, denim jacket on her shoulders, hair a free-falling cascade of brown and gold curls, that one violet streak cast in a dark magenta in the evening light.

She had a dark orange lipstick on this time. He could tell it was a different shade – a bolder one.

But Michelle couldn’t understand it – Peter Parker suddenly looked –

Well.

He looked hot.

He looked _attractive_. In the way most people thought of it. Like he’d stepped out of a magazine, and that _hair_ –

Man, she felt like she needed to sit down.

“Yo,” she replied, jumping into step beside Ned as they made their way up the path, the music now becoming clearer as they got closer to the open door. Ned had opted for a casual affair, dark shirt buttoned up loosely, with jeans and a formal jacket on top, his hat perched on his head, his converse also on his feet. He looked dapper – pulling off a modern attempt on the look of the 1930’s. It suited him well.

“So, who dressed you guys? Because I know this -” - she motioned to their fashion choices – “was not accomplished alone.”

Peter and Ned exchanged glances, just as Peter leant around his friend, looking at her with a laugh in his smile.

“It was May. We asked for her help. This was what she came up with,”

Michelle sniffed, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart as she looked at him, still insanely addled as to how Peter Parker had been keeping that look under wraps for so long, hidden beneath the checked shirts and stupid gym uniform. This was discovering her crush all over again. 

“Tell her to dress you more often,” she said, face breaking out into a grin at Peter’s pout.

The three of them burst into laughter.

˟               ˟               ˟

Entering into the party wasn’t quite as easy to do as a group – although the place was packed, people milling about, drinks in hand, as they talked about who knew what - Peter, Michelle and Ned all felt like they’d wandered into the wrong place. Everyone else felt like they belonged there – as if they mixed in with the background seamlessly. Even with May’s magic handiwork with Peter’s hair, it seemed like the geeky feel all three of them radiated was a permanent feature of their person.

Michelle didn’t give two shits. She loved being who she was – she’d just been invited to a party by a guy who had very different external interests compared to her and her two best friends.

Yes. Peter and Ned were now officially her boys. The ones she hung out with from now on.

She was standing proudly beside them in her tangerine/yellow dress and DM boots. That was more than enough to prove how determined she was about that friendship.

“Well, I need a drink. Coming?” She turned to the both of them, who were standing a little awkwardly at the door, much like they had done at Liz’s party – almost a year ago. Michelle was struck by how much had happened since then – sometimes it was too much to take in.

Peter looked suitably uncomfortable, since more than a few people were shooting him and Ned – but mostly him – strange but admiring looks, like they couldn’t understand what had happened to him.

It annoyed Michelle only a little bit – it wasn’t like he’d had thin hair in the past; he’d always had pretty thick hair (she’d been paying attention, much as she hated to admit that). He had just never made it look so untamed before _on purpose_.

It was also slightly annoying her that more than a few girls were glancing at him as they walked by, their conversation lapsing into hushed laughter, making Michelle wonder whether she ought to start scowling behind his back to make them bugger off.

Probably not such a great idea if she was trying to go incognito. She didn’t need people staring at her, especially when the whole point of parties was to become one with the crowd, so that people lost identity for a while.

Just as they were making their way to the kitchen, a loud screech from the music stopped them in their tracks, just as Flash’s voice came over on the speaker phone.

“Penis Parker is in the house! WHAT IS UP?”

Peter stopped in his tracks, turning towards Flash, who was currently stood behind his equipment, microphone in hand. He was getting serious flashbacks, here. If this was another –

“Where’s Spider-Man, my dude? Did he dump you for his date with Tony Stark?” the klaxon went off – Flash’s lame attempt at getting to him. Michelle readied her mouth to start snapping insults back – probably involving his own personal superhero crushes and all the embarrassing situations she could think of – but she stopped when she saw Peter’s face.

She’d thought perhaps he would be shaking his head in disbelief, or just raising an eyebrow and walking on.

He was doing no such thing. He was standing staring at him, a deeply pained look in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed in both regret and humiliation.

And it hit her in the face.

That was him they were making fun of, yes, but it was something else – the part of him that was doing such good in the world was _also_ being mocked, being used as a cheap joke to get back at him.

They were turning him into a joke – in more ways than they even realized.

Flash’s crowd laughed at the insult, just as he fired another one, people looking on.

“Did you get your imaginary girlfriend back? Let me guess, she realized how God awful lame your excuses are and ran off with Spider-Man again?”

Peter bit his lip in annoyance, looking away, just as Flash threw the last bomb.

“And where’d you get your clothes? Did you get them off your uncle?”

Michelle gawked; Ned’s jaw dropped. Surely he couldn’t have been that insensitive?

That _cruel_?

Michelle could feel her face contorting into a demonic expression, all teeth and wild hair. She caught a glance of Peter’s expression, whose head had whipped up at the statement, eyes wide. The emotion on his face was evident, hitting Michelle across the face like a well-aimed slap.

His lip was now shaking, glaring at Flash, even though his eyes had the slightest shine on them, hinting to tears.

Michelle whipped her head back to Flash, whose expression had cleared the minute he’d realized what he’d said – he looked more shocked at himself than the tears in Peter’s eyes.

Everyone had known about his uncle – that he’d been killed by some thief who’d been let slip. No one had been brave enough to ask him the details. Michelle had watched Peter skip lunch for nearly two weeks, over the top of her book. She’d seen him in in the gymnasium on his own, face tear-stained, head buried in his hands as he tried to get it out before the next bell rang.

She even remembered how he’d nearly vomited in class one time, and how Ned had rushed him from the classroom before he’d given Flash more ammunition.

Apparently he’d already given him some when his uncle had died.

Michelle didn’t even know what she was doing when he grabbed Peter’s hand, gripping it firmly, giving a comforting squeeze as she turned her fury on Flash.

“ _Eugene_. _Thompson_. You go fuck yourself before I make you wish you’d never seen the light of day, _so help me_ if you talk to either of my best friends like that _again_.”

Flash looked like someone had announced the day he would die - _no one_ called him Eugene – not even that many people knew that was what his actual name was. He was called Flash on so many occasions that many had even forgotten his real name.

Michelle had done no such thing.

Peter’s expression had changed to one of dumb, blank shock, the tears having slipped down his cheek a little, but Michelle just continued on holding his hand, lacing her fingers as deeply into his own as she could manage. She hadn’t realized how strong they’d be.

They were _strong_ hands – hands that would comfort and help others.

Hands that she wished would hold hers more often.

Michelle turned to Ned, who seemed to have lost all ability to speak.

“I said I needed a drink. Come on, let’s go,” she turned to the kitchen in front of them, people still walking about but clearly aware that something had happened. Peter had wiped his tears away from his face, still looking suitably fresh faced despite it.

As they walked towards the kitchen, Michelle flipped Flash two fingers, her face obscured by the wall as she disappeared behind it.

He seriously needed his mouth sewn shut for his own good, as well as everyone else’s.

Dipping into the kitchen, Michelle started the search for something to drink as Peter and Ned stood off to one side, talking quietly.

“You guys like ginger beer? It’s non-alcoholic.”

Peter nodded absently, as she poured three glasses for them all, shoving them into their hands as she took a sip of her own.

“Flash is a dick – in case that wasn’t already clear,” Michelle said, casting a glance back at the rest of the house. The argument seemed to have been smoothed over, the music still loudly vibrating through the house, but it was evident that they were being given a wide berth.

Michelle sniffed. That was fine.

Peter seemed to be very quiet, looking into his glass with a slightly pained expression.

“You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

Michelle snorted, making him look up in surprise.

“Of course I did. Like I said – Flash is a dick. It was a sick joke and he deserved to be yelled at for it. I think even _he_ knows that.”

She took a drink.

“And anyway. I don’t let people talk to my friends like that.” She took another gulp, letting the sugar fill her mouth with the fizz, ignoring the very openly raw look on Peter’s face, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t think how to go about it.

Both Peter and Ned seemed a little unsure what to make of that statement, but Ned seemed content to let it pass without comment. Peter didn’t seem to know what to say either, but he looked ready to try.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Michelle snapped in before he could say a word, looking him straight in the eye. She was pleased to know she hadn’t lost any height on him. He was at her own height at the moment, but she was still growing – she would get tall enough so that he wouldn’t be able to catch up - one day.

Peter nodded his head slowly, hair falling in front of his face as he stared down into his glass. He seemed entranced by the liquid, refusing to look up again. Michelle bit her lip in worry, as Ned patted his shoulder awkwardly, saying,

“I’m going to see if I can find the rest of the Decathlon team. You wanna come, Peter?”

Peter shook his head. Ned frowned, but went on without him.

Michelle continued to watch on, even as she saw his shoulders tense up and his posture stiffen, standing up straight despite how weak he looked; it was like he’d been kicked into silence.

She couldn’t take it.

She nearly smashed her glass down on the counter behind her as she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she gave him – probably the shortest – hug out there. It was over almost instantly, but she didn’t miss the way he’d let his face sink into her shoulder in that brief time, hair tickling her neck. He’d relaxed in that short space, even as she’d pulled away. She untangled her arms from around his neck, a small, uncontrollable part of her wishing she could allow herself to hold on for a little longer, and let her fingers acquaint themselves with the curls of his hair, and let his breath ghost over her face as his arms came around her, holding onto her for dear life. 

She wished, and once again, knew she couldn't have.

“You know, Parker – it’s fine to cry about things like that. I know you did the first time. It’s not a new thing – grief, I mean. Don’t say sorry for being caring.”

Grabbing her drink again, she headed for the door, unable to look straight at him – he was gazing at her in some delicate way that made her heart flutter a little, his eyes looking far too deep into her own. She tossed her hair away from her face again.

“Don’t get lost in here, Loser.”

She turned and walked away, her skin feeling like it was on fire.

Minutes passed – maybe at least twenty – and Michelle made the point of wandering about, as she often did, observing people as they walked past her. Nobody seemed to notice her, even though she was not at all inconspicuous in the dress she was wearing. It didn’t matter that maybe they wanted to talk to her – very few did anyways. But they became so invested in their own conversations that Michelle simply drifted in and out of theirs instead.

It was only when she turned to look at the door that she saw Peter walking past, phone in hand, a text having clearly come in, obvious from the glaring, blue message bubbles on his phone, which she only caught a glimpse of before he pocketed the device. He certainly seemed in a rush to be gone, running a nervous hand through his hair, which Michelle decided was uncannily hot despite how he usually fell under the category of ‘cute’  - in that innocent, boyish way that some guys never truly escaped from. 

He did not need to escape from it, she thought - but she was making no complaints about him being different types of attractive. 

His head turned to look for Ned, most likely, but they instead landed upon her. His eyes widened slightly, the dark irises still looking gentle, even from this distance. Michelle narrowed hers in response, but her lips stayed in a permanent, worried frown.

She was telling him across the distance:

_Where are you going now, Parker?_

His gaze hardened, pulling his leather jacket tightly around him as he opened the door, disappearing behind it, just as Ned appeared at her arm, clearly confused by the entire situation.

“Hey, Michelle – have you seen Peter?”

“No,” she said instantly, before turning to him properly, handing him her glass.

“Sorry, Ned, I have to go,”

“But MJ, you only just got here!”

Michelle tilted her chin, making a point of staring him down. Ned returned her look with a curious squint.

“I was never really _here_ , Leeds,”

She half-ran in the direction of the front door, Ned’s voice calling after her,

“You always say that, though!”

Michelle shut the door behind her, the music and noise cutting off instantly. She had to admit it was a relief to her ears – sometimes you never realized how noisy it was until you escaped it. Looking to the sky almost instantly, she was just able to make out the remnants of spider web hanging from the roof.

Synthetic spider web.

Hardening her stare, she set off down the road at a sprint, knowing the next bus would be here within the next ten minutes or so.

What? She’d come to learn the schedules pretty well.

 

But she’d had enough of all of it.

She’d had enough of Peter sneaking off. She’d had enough of being kept in the dark. She’d had enough of chasing after her best friend as she fell for him, never sure what to do with herself when he was in the room, and never knowing for sure how he felt about her.

Michelle Jones was sick of being a side character in her own story.

She was going to catch him this time, and that was final.

 

_Damn you, Peter – why do you keep making me chase after you?_

She already knew the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the last arc of this little story... hard to believe, actually. I never thought I would get through it this quickly, and certainly not with the response I've received. 
> 
> Hopefully you'll like what I have planned for the last three chapters. I think it'll have you all surprised. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are always appreciated!


	9. Classic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was amazingly good fun to write - you've all been waiting for this kind of thing for a while now, so I think this should qualm all your worries that Peter and Michelle will continue running in circles. 
> 
> Recommendations for this chapter is Technicolour Beat by Oh Wonder, and To the Moon & Back by Savage Garden. Also maybe When You Were Young by the Killers. That's optional. Oh, and What Do You Want from Me? by Monaco, for Peter's POV at the second stage of the chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again to all my lovely readers who continue to give this fic such love and encouragement. It's truly amazing, and so heartwarming to find so many of you enjoying my writing!

The bus journey into town proved to be a long one for Michelle. She’s already realized that Peter had run off to some major bank heist in the middle of the city, clearly feeling too out of place at the party – more than happy to ditch it for his usual night patrol.

Michelle only felt a sliver of annoyance at him for coming all dressed up, to only go and ruin it all with his suit.

Which was sort of why she was chasing after him – in the slowest way possible.

The city outside her window let her see it draped in the shadows and bright lights of New York at night, where it awoke to become something richer when the sun sank from its throne in the sky. It became a city charged with emotion – as people continuously forwent sleep to become an owl under a blanket of stars they couldn’t see.

New York was something very different this time of night.

She knew it had been foolish – to leave the party unnoticed and to go into the main city this late at night. She had her pepper spray and she was a decent runner. She’d be fine.

But even as the bus jolted to yet another stop, Michelle thought.

She thought about the things that she’d been thinking about for nearly two weeks now.

She thought about how this had all started – how one skinny boy had suddenly become something; how he’d suddenly meant a little more to her than he had meant before.

How, in one moment to the next, Michelle had fallen in love with Peter Parker – even if it wasn’t really love.

Even if she called it by some other name – no matter how she denied it or pretended it was just a glitch in her brain – it would still be just that.

Love. Even in some strange, young way that made it seem more precious and less permanent.

Michelle leant her chin in her hand, elbow on the lip of the window. If she was to be completely honest with herself, she had to admit that this crush had been going on for a lot longer than she cared to even think about. Since – who even knew? Certainly for a year, at least. It had been long enough to know that she was by no means a fickle person, because any crushes before that had been fleeting and honestly ridiculous.

This – this _affection_ for him was no new thing. It had been consuming her very heart for ages now, making her question everything and anything about how she functioned both as herself and as a human being. It made her question exactly what she wanted from life, and if her brain was perhaps trying to tell her that Peter – even just his friendship and his care – was what she needed.

She was cared for at home, yes. She had a place in school.

But with Peter – and Ned, in their strange trio that they made up – she felt like she had a place to truly be herself. Something she had never experienced before. The Decathlon team was soon becoming another place she felt she could belong in, but Peter and Ned had gotten there first.

They’d been there for her _first_.

Sure, she’d brushed them off and they’d shot each other weird looks and made faces depending on how ridiculous they thought a certain comment was, but nevertheless –

She’d found a place for them in her heart.

They’d made a space for her in theirs.

It was no dismissive thing.

The bus finally ground to a halt, Michelle able to see the damage to the bank from a mile off. She rushed from the bus, jumping to the sidewalk, as she half-walked, half-sprinted in the direction of the incident. It looked like the doors had been busted, and the action was still ongoing, the police cars pulled up outside as they waited with bated breath, curious but cautious about who might emerge.

Michelle crept closer, not so cautious in herself, but worried.

That was him in there, right now – doing what he’d been doing for months.

Swallowing, she crept up behind the nearest dustbin, left out by the end of another alleyway, as she watched the scene. A small fire had started inside the building, shouting emitting both from the building and from the policemen themselves, as they held their guns up, faces contorted into some rendition of steely concern.

Just at that moment, Spider-Man leapt out from a top window, landing nimbly on his feet as the perpetrators swung from above him, wrapped up in the sticky silk, back to back, swinging senselessly. He’d pulled the web through the window, sticking it to the inside of the building before wrapping them in it too. He’d looped it around the lamppost to keep them hanging, suspended with little to no movement, and Michelle could just about hear how hilarious he thought it was.

“Great view, guys! You shouldn’t steal from banks – it’s super unhelpful!”

He turned to the policemen, placing in new cartridges of web fluid as he talked.

“Well, that’s it sorted – if you need any help, just call. Thanks!” He swung off, Michelle looking overhead as he went by. He had turned into the nearest alleyway.

Racing after him, she turned into the same one again, skidding to a halt as she saw him standing with his back to her, looking ready to make his next leap.

“Spider-Butt!”

His whole frame jarred instantly, swinging around to see her, freezing when he caught sight of who it was. The alleyway was overshadowed by many of New York’s huge skyscrapers, the red and blue lights casting eerie shadows on the ground, making her skin look like a kaleidoscope. His eyes had widened considerably.

“Michelle?! What the _actual_ hell -?”

“Knew I’d find you here,” she took a step forward, folding her arms. Her legs were a little cold, the warm night not enough to stop them from shivering. She pulled her denim jacket tighter around her, watching him as the lights played across his mask, casting the eyes in strange hues as he tilted his head. He didn’t look wholly real, standing in the alleyway with the red and blue playing across his suit. He still looked so slight, even with suit on - even with his new physique. He looked too much like a storybook character to be real anymore. 

It was only further proof to her that Spider-Man was nothing more than a high schooler having the time of his life.

But having the time of his life always came at a price.

It didn’t take long for the silence to become suffocating. Spider-Man turned to look at her, tilting his head to the side. He looked a little unsure of what to say.

“I know who you are,”

The words rang out into the silence, Michelle wondering for a minute why it’d been so hard to say the entire time. She could’ve dropped that bomb anytime she would’ve liked. It wouldn’t have mattered when she did it; Peter Parker knew he was walking a fine line between secrecy and outright admission, but he had been determined nonetheless to keep it from her.

Maybe other people had been an accident. Maybe they hadn’t been.

But keeping his secret, when even _he_ didn’t know _she_ knew it, was making her shoulders feel too heavy. She wasn’t meant to be Atlas, carrying this weight with her wherever she went.

She was sick of being lied to.

She took a few steps forward, to which Spider-Man clambered up onto the wall to her right, hands spread against the brick as he looked down, still facing her but looking suitably terrified at her words.

“I’m not - I’m not - no, you don't!” He cried, scrambling up further as she tried to reach him. Michelle scrunched up her face in a frown, pushing her hair back in frustration. It was going everywhere, and the lightest rain had come on. It was faint, and barely perceptible against her skin, but she could feel it nonetheless. The atmosphere was too thick and heavy to miss the little things - like everything had been heightened. 

“I know who you are, Spider-Butt. I have done for ages now,”

“No, you don’t! You don’t know me!” His voice had become high, almost pleading, a sheer panic in his voice that sounded more like determination. It made him instantly recognizable as her classmate – even as he clambered up the wall some more, glaring down at her.

Michelle stepped forward, glare just as sharp as she stared up at him, arms folded. Man, tonight was colder than she had imagined.

“Stop being stupid, Spider-Butt. Get down here,”

He didn’t comply, staying spread on the wall above her, lurking in the half-shadows as the blue and red light continued to play across the scene. It felt like the tension was making itself known – whispering furiously in her ear, telling her to break it before things became too unbearable. It was the voice of her mind that knew the time for keeping quiet had passed much too long ago.

She wasn’t shying away from this; not again. Not _ever_  again.

He narrowed his eyes down at her, for once appearing more serious than she remembered them ever being - usually his eyes remained comically wide as he joked about. Although she could see no emotion from the mask, it was playing out across his body; his tense shoulders, his spread fingers, gripping the brick in anxiety, the eyes of the mask judging her before she spoke another word.

Peter Parker being serious was such a rare sight that it almost made her want to run away.

He finally complied, webbing the edge of the roof, as he suspended himself upside down, sliding down the web with a certain hesitation.

Michelle pursed her lips.

“You have _no_ idea who I am, I swear,” he said, gripping the web so much that it looked strained.

Michelle snorted in adamant disagreement.

“Then how come your voice seems so familiar?”

It wasn’t a question she needed answered; just a reaction from him was enough. It would be all the proof she needed. 

If his shoulders could tense anymore, then they did. He seemed visibly shaken by her statement, turning his head away in shame.

“I know who you are, Spider-Butt, unless that wasn’t abundantly clear –”

“No you don’t! You just think you do! You’ve never met me, honestly!”

His voice had pitched higher in alarm, but Michelle had had enough. Even as she watched his eyes widen in fervent horror, his worry now rolling off him in waves - wrapping itself around her chest as it constricted, her own fear taking a hold of her tongue - she knew she couldn’t back away now.

“Oh, yeah? Then who are you, Spider-Butt?”

He sighed in agitation.

“I’m not called that, alright?!”

She reached forward and took the base of the mask, pulling it down over his face, just over the tip of his nose. His profile was rather strange upside down, but she had to admire how much it gave him a true sense of humanity, being able to see some of the guy beneath the mask. His lips were parted, tinted red by the hazy light falling across his now exposed skin. His breath ghosted across her cheek, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering from earlier. She watched as he tried to form the words, but couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work, so he clamped it shut instead.

“Tell me or I take the mask off, Loser,”

It was a risk. She knew _he_ knew who she called by that nickname, and he made no point of disguising it: his breath hitched, knuckles tightening around the web. Surely it should have clicked by now?

Michelle kept the frown on her face, staring at him with contempt and disdain, even though her skin felt warm, her heart pounding in her chest.

 _Ugh, this is so stupid_.

“Michelle, come on!” The panic had reached a fever pitch, although there was some hint of annoyance there – a genuine hate for what she was attempting to do.

She watched his lips move, wondering why it was so much easier to imagine –

_No, Michelle – you need to focus here._

“I’m serious!”

“So am I! I can’t – it’s – if I tell you it’ll be the end of my career! I can’t – ”

“I don’t give a shit,”

He huffed in annoyance, looking her straight in the eye, his brow currently furrowed, going by the shape of the mask’s eyes.

“Well, you should!”

It was Michelle’s turn to huff in annoyance, folding her arms in a show of stubborn determination. This was becoming a real pain. Even as he hung upside down, mask pulled a little way down, his lips showing far more emotion than his mask’s eyes ever could, it was becoming more difficult to concentrate.

This crush, as she’d already told herself, would be the end of her.

“I’ve no obligation to care about anything, Spider-Butt,”

He bit his lip in frustration, nearly yelping in annoyance.

“That nickname is so _lame_ , Miche -”

His words were cut off as something very surprising took a hold of him.

Michelle didn’t know what made her do it. Maybe she’d had enough of him talking, in his stupid costume, only half the mask left before he became Peter Parker.

Or rather, before Spider-Man became revealed as Peter Parker.

It didn’t matter either way – she certainly didn’t _care_ either way. Even as she leaned in, she could see more panic flood into his face, lips parting to speak, but she stopped him before he could even try.

She kissed him.

Not maybe as she would have liked the first time round – she’d been hoping to have it the right way up, for starters. It felt strange, and unpracticed, and for certain - surprising.

It was clear that this was his first time as well. His cologne invaded her senses, as she held his face gently; she brushed the locks of his wavy hair, sticking up out of the back of the mask near the nape of his neck, with her fingers, making him gasp into the back of her throat, filling her mouth with the faintest taste of the ginger beer from earlier – rich and tangy, but mixed with something like oranges.

He did not know how to kiss. He did not really know anything in that moment, but it didn’t mean he didn’t kiss her back, just a little. He tilted his head slightly, pressing into her lips with a little more pressure, Michelle finding more of his breath escaping into her mouth.

It was just a kiss – but it felt like the world crashing in around her ears.

She was kissing him.

She was actually _kissing_ Peter Parker.

The boy she’d hugged not an hour ago, with his stupid wavy hair and ridiculous leather jacket and perfect teeth and surprisingly great figure and –

She pulled back, looking at him with a hard gaze, biting her lip out of force of habit. He was staring right back at her, his eyes wide but unmoving, mouth still slightly open, lips a little bruised from the pressure. She placed her fingers on her own, feeling the sore skin in the corner of her mouth.

Yeah. _A little bruised_.

Like her heart, in some ways, she guessed.

Spider-Man – or rather, _Peter_ – coughed once, as he clambered upright onto the web, looking down at her as he hung on with his feet. He hadn’t bothered to pull the mask up, so she could see his pursed lips.

She tried to forget that it was her mouth that had left that bruising.

“I – I gotta go,” he muttered, as he swung up onto the roof, perched more like a cat than a spider. He took one last glance back at her, eyes narrowing a little, even in amongst the red and blue lights, and dark haze of the city. The very faint rain had stopped ages ago, but Michelle couldn’t remember when.

He pulled down his mask, disappearing into the darkness as Michelle stood alone, in her yellow dress and DM boots, denim jacket still pulled around her frame, hair a frizzy mess, lips a little sore, heart still pounding in her chest.

“ _Go get ‘em, tiger_ ,” she whispered to him even though she knew he was long gone.

The alleyway was silent.

She’d just kissed Peter Parker.

Lord help her if she managed to sleep tonight.

˟               ˟               ˟

Peter wasn’t in full control of his limbs as he swung home, mask now snugly fit over his face again. His arms felt shaky, his legs heavy. His head felt like it was spinning. 

 _And his lips were sore_.

He hadn’t been aware that Michelle could be forceful in something as delicate as a kiss, but then he supposed she wasn’t really _about_  delicate.

He couldn’t concentrate half as well as he usually could, his senses blitzing his co-ordination, making him swing too far or dive too low, causing him near half a dozen miniature heart attacks as he nearly got swamped by late night traffic, the lights of the city dazzling him as he swept by, not paying the sights full attention.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It had happened so fast. One minute – talking. Trying to make a point as he’d climbed the walls in anxious escape, trying to dodge her direct questions, like bullets grazing his ear.

She’d told him she’d known who he was. His mind had flared with panic at that point, Karen chirping in his ear that his heart rate had increased and breathing had gotten faster, suggesting he sit down and take deep breaths.

He’d elected to ignore that statement, instead clambering up as far away from her as he could, glaring down at her with a mix of contempt and admiration. Her stubbornness had been something to commend – that girl _really_  didn’t back down.

He’d complied _only_ – and he said ‘only’ because he was too proud to say otherwise – because he’d felt bad for ignoring her. This, being the Michelle who had paid him attention when others had dissed him.

Alright, she hadn’t always been – well, _pleasant_ about it, but she’d made the effort.

She’d been a friend to him.

She _was_ a friend to him.

And yeah. Maybe, when he’d seen her on the sidewalk, as May had driven up, in her yellow dress and matching DM’s, hair a crazy, chaotic, _beautiful_ mess, lips painted like the sinking sun and eyes demanding sacrifice from those who dared go near her –

Maybe he just thought it was sexy as _hell_ and _he couldn’t_ _take it anymore_.

He couldn’t _take_ not being able to just _be_ with her like he wanted, but he kept his distance, because he was not a dick and he was going to be a friend to her.

 _A friend_.

He didn’t even know how she got there in the first place. As he swung by the sidewalk, giving an absent wave to a few passers-by, he knew in his heart that Michelle Jones had known he’d gone missing from the party.

She’d probably gone to find him.

Which instigated that she _did_  care about him.

But he knew, even further down, that she _knew_.

He just did. He may be oblivious, and naïve, and young, and often stupid when he ought to be able to walk on his own two feet without making a fool of himself –

But he knew that Michelle Jones knew his secret.

It was the only explanation he had, that made any sort of sense.

And then somewhere, in amongst all of that, she’d kissed him.

It had been too quick to completely realize what was going on, but he’d been about to snap out some reel about how she needed to get off his back, and just get home safely, and then she’d taken his face, hands surprisingly gentle, and planted her lips on his mouth, and from there, he couldn’t remember much else apart from sensations, since his brain had pretty much short circuited from there on.

She’d been _warm_ – like a hazy summer day, and standing in that yellow dress, it wasn’t hard to mistake her for the sun at all. It had been chaste – he’d only opened his mouth a little and then he’d suddenly got her breath in his throat and her lips bruising his own with the pressure, and something like vanilla and cinnamon filling his mouth, and then –

He’d pressed _back_. He remembered that part. He’d been conscious enough to remember that.

As he swung for his window, landing nimbly on the sill, he opened the pane with a practised care, slipping in as gently as he could, once again traversing the ceiling to avoid stumbling into something.

With the way his limbs were shaking with the adrenaline, it was a wonder he hadn’t face planted himself on the road and been run over.

The door clicked shut as he pulled the mask off, chucking it across the room with a force he didn’t care about, running his hands through his hair and over his face, rubbing his eyes.

_Too much at once, Peter, too much at once –_

This was ridiculous. He was shaking like a leaf.

He collapsed onto his chair, a hand gripping his hair tightly as he tried to think.

His heart was pounding. It had been the entire time.

He started to think about the sensations – he was alone now. Michelle had left his senses well alone by now, but he could still taste her lips on his own, still carrying the bruising.

He didn’t know kisses could be so _raw_.

His head rested back against the head of the chair, breathing out. His hair was a mess, like an unkempt nest made for birds.

He bit his lip, testing the bruise. Still fairly sore.

 _Huh_.

He needed to call Ned about this.

He grappled for his phone as he pressed the spider on his suit, making it fall in a puddle at his feet. Yanking on a sweatshirt, cuffs like paws on his hands, he let it ring, holding it to his ear.

“Yeah-huh?”

Peter breathed out in relief. He hadn’t been sure he’d have been able to think clearly on this if Ned hadn’t picked up.

“Ned, thank God –”

“Why are you so out of breath?”

Peter paused, shrugging his shoulders to himself. How did you even _launch_ into this topic?

“Uh – you know how I have a crush on Michelle?”

There was silence on the end of the phone. Peter waited. Then:

“Dude, what happened?”

Peter breathed out to himself, jumping onto his lower bunk, sprawling across the top sheets.

This was going to be weird.

“Well, uh – Michelle came after me at the party –”

“Yeah, I saw her leave,”

“Right! So she followed me to town – to the heist thing – and she caught up to me –”

“O-K,” Ned sounded very confused. “So what?”

“ _So_ ,” Peter emphasised, running another nervous hand through his hair, before biting down on his cuff, trying to stifle the crack in his voice.

“She caught up to me and she wouldn’t go away so I came down and told her to leave and then shekissedme,” It came out as a rush at the end, Peter nearly shredding the cuff with his teeth in his anxiety.

He could practically see Ned squint down the phone.

“Wait, what? She did _what_?”

Taking a deep breath, he strapped in for the long, hard fall.

“She – she kissed me,”

The silence on the end of the phone was rather deafening, considering that Ned was rarely silent for long.

“Dude, WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?”

Peter nearly shrieked back at him.

“Dude, whoa, watch my ears! Calm down –”

“Calm down?! You kissed Michelle! _Our_ Michelle! Peter – man, this is _crazy_ –”

“Look, I know, just – quit yelling, alright?”

Ned breathed, trying to regain control over the volume of his voice. Peter had never expected a – _quiet_  reaction, really, because with Ned, quietness was never a guarantee.

“Peter, what happened? You have to tell me,”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I just – she kissed me. Out of nowhere. It’s just doing crazy things to my head, you know? My senses feel like they’ve been turned up to maximum. I think I nearly crashed into a building three times,”

Ned squawked in laughter.

“Oh my God, Peter, that’s hilarious –”

“It is not _hilarious_ , Ned –”

“No, but it totally _is_ because she kissed you. _She_ kissed _you_ , Peter. She likes you! Isn’t that crazy?”

Peter breathed out, eyes widening in realization.

“Wait, you mean –”

“Yeah, I do mean –”

“No, no, no, wait a minute. She can’t – that’s not possible. Ned, it’s _Michelle_ –”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Ned breathed, as Peter dragged a hand over his face. This was getting ridiculous.

Were kisses _supposed_ to be this big a deal?

It really didn’t help that the only kissing he’d seen was between May and Ben, as affectionate, quick things that didn’t really count for anything super substantial. Not the level he was talking about here. Because then, he only had movies to worry about, and it became a lot harder to judge how that actually worked in real life.

This _sucked_.

“Dude, quit it with the breathy voice, it’s making me want to puke,”

“Sorry. Just – this is insane. If _anyone_ had a chance, it was you –”

“You said that about Liz,”

“I said it about _you_. You have a chance, Peter. I mean – you do realize that she stood up for you, right?”

The party flickered back into clarity in his head, like some memory he finally could recall after being asleep. She had, in fact, stood up for him. Taken his hand and everything. Her palm had been warm as well, but a little cool from the evening air.

He’d seen her in such startling colour tonight - like a fairytale; like a light come to life; like –

Well, like everything he thought he couldn’t have.

But perhaps he’d been wrong about that.

Perhaps Michelle Jones wasn’t quite so unattainable as he’d once thought.

“Yeah, I know, Ned,” It was a weary answer, but the adrenaline had left, leaving him limp in limb and breathless in voice. He suddenly felt like he’d run a marathon. In some ways, he’d been running it for ages – _the_  marathon, where he might find his answer at the end.

Michelle Jones might – _just might_ – like him.

“I think she might know, Ned,” the words punctured the silence again, but this time it felt heavier – a deeper confession than before.

Ned sighed, clearly tired himself.

“Why d’you think that?”

“I dunno.”

He honestly didn’t.

“Would it be bad if she did?”

Now, _that_ was a question.

Did it matter to him that Michelle just might have discovered his secret? Well, not really. She was his friend.

But –

“No. Just –”

“Just what?” Ned’s voice had gotten an edge, like he knew, in his deadpan way, exactly what Peter was about to say.

Peter breathed out, staring at the rungs of the top bunk. How many times had he looked up at that bunk at night, thinking about that strange girl with her nose in a book?

“I was planning on telling her,”

˟               ˟               ˟

That night, Michelle couldn’t sleep, just like she’d thought.

It was very hard to rid her mind of things, when it seemed to have switched itself to high-strung. Permanently.

It was her fault. Of course it was. Sitting up at 1am on a school night because she couldn’t sleep for thinking of Peter’s Parker’s mouth was not the greatest excuse she’d ever made in her life, but at least it was _true_.

The kiss had been far too impulsive for someone like her – someone who thought about things more than they spoke them. She was a mindful person – who said things as she meant them, when she best felt she ought to say them.

She used words with a purpose, actions following slowly behind.

That entire scene had been more about action than she even cared to remember.

She’d just taken him and just –

Well, just –

Michelle buried her head in her pillow, curls splaying around it as she groaned outwardly, her shame slapping her across the face. This was insane – why had she done that? Why had she kissed him?

Why had she even _considered_ it?

Oh, wait. Hormones.

Literally the answer for anything emotional, _ever_ , in a teenager’s life.

She’d just watched the lights playing across his bare skin, remembering his thick hair and broad shoulders, and his leather jacket, desperately wanting to take it off and then possibly take off everything _else_ afterward, but knowing that such a thing was highly out of order.

Especially at a party.

Especially _anywhere_.

 _I’m a total mess_.

Join the line, really. Peter was a mess, Ned was a mess. People were a mess. She knew that; frequently told people much the same thing.

But she still couldn’t rid her mind of it.

His lips had been soft, and gentle – wanting but knowing he ought to be pulling back. Except – then he’d pressed into her own and she’d suddenly realized, _he’d wanted it too_.

It was just – crazy. Stupid, crazy nonsense that was much too indulgent. It happened in an alleyway for the exacting purpose of being forgotten. Of not being _seen_ by anyone because in all reality it shouldn’t have happened.

But Michelle didn’t _want_ to forget it. She didn’t want to think that her first kiss was something to shy away from.

She raised her head, flopping down onto her back, the duvet soft beneath her. It was currently black and white stripes – very her. She had a vibrant yellow cushion that was shaped in a speech bubble, that had ‘Hello!’ written on it; she had a toy fox sitting on her pillow, his fur a rusty red, yet soft to touch. Her ceiling light was made of dozens of separate, suspended petals that cast dappled light across the room. Her walls were a pale, pale yellow, making it often glow with warmth when she kept her bedside lamp on. She had a whole corner of a wall dedicated to her bookshelves. Her window allowed her to see the city at night. She’d painted constellations on her ceiling, which looked a little wonky depending on where you lay on the floor. She had wobbly stacks of books sitting near her desk. She had more shelves above that.

In short, her room was a mess, but she liked it that way; and often, it represented her head far better than any prose ever could.

Erratic and illogical, but intelligent and crazy, and everything a mind ought to be.

Books tumbled everywhere, her cat left hairs on her bed, her homework always ended up on the floor, her light always made her room look like the inside of an explosion, the light casting itself in tiny shimmers of light across the room, and within all of that, Michelle’s head could not rid itself of Peter Parker.

Her room was a mess, and so was she. 

An erratic, illogical, intelligent, crazy mess.

 

A mess,

But at least she was in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics, italics, everywhere...
> 
> Well. Well, well, well, Michelle Jones. 
> 
> I meant it to be like that. I had this up my sleeve since the beginning - I was super looking forward to writing it, so hopefully I've done it justice. 
> 
> One picture I did use for inspiration was this here: https://www.instagram.com/p/BJk9d0dD04F/?taken-by=gabriel.soareszz
> 
> Gabriel Soares is an amazing artist, and he did a rendition of the one with the red haired Mary Jane as well, if anyone's interested. 
> 
> Also: notice the yellow dress anyone??? 
> 
> I just really wanted to do an upside down kiss, alright? It's like, classic Spidey. Hence the title name. 
> 
> Anyways, only two more chapters to go and we're done!!! Hard to believe. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are always appreciated.


	10. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you have expressed a serious grief at the idea of this fic coming to a close, and I must say - I agree! Writing this story has been an absolute pleasure for me. This fandom has given me the best response I could ask for, with so many people being as encouraging, kind, honest, supportive and critically helpful with my work as I could ask for. Everything my scatter -brained head missed at 1am, you all helped rectify, whether it was American lingo problems, continuity not being, well- continuous, or points about the topics covered throughout the entire story. 
> 
> I had my serious doubts about whether or not I could finish this. I really did. But every comment, kudos and question has made me continue writing! I have enjoyed crafting this story as much as you have all seemed to enjoy reading it, and that says a hell of a lot, not just about the calibre of my writing, but also of how appreciative you guys are about what us fanfic writers churn out. Committing to stuff like this isn't easy - it's the first proper fic I've ever actually committed to completing. 
> 
> Recommendations for this chapter are mostly Oh Wonder (sue me), but especially White Blood and All We Do. Also Livewire and Body Gold, if you need extra songs to get you through this entire chapter. 
> 
> There's also a really beautiful theme called 'Seijaku' from the soundtrack to 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time', that also really fits this, if you're looking for a classical piece to listen to, so as not to distract from what you're reading. 
> 
> But yes - thank you! I have an idea that I may or may not follow up on, but if I do, expect it at the end of this story, in the last chapter, in my notes. I'll have to decide what I want to do. 
> 
> But it the meantime - have more Spideychelle. There can never be enough.

Ned had been wearing a goldfish–like expression on his face since he’d met Peter in that hallway that Thursday morning, and continued to wear it all the way up until lunch. By that point, he’d finally managed to speak.

“You were planning on telling her?!”

Peter sighed into his hands, scrubbing his eyes in frustration. If Ned got any louder, he’d be as well announcing his life story on the live news in the evening.

“Yeah, I was planning on telling her. I couldn’t _not_ , Ned,”

“Did you ever plan on telling _me_?”

Peter stared at him, hand raised in confusion, the frown creasing his eyebrows.

“Dude, you found out before I could even make that decision.”

“Huh. Fair enough,” Ned glared at him for another second before his concerned frown took its place on his face again.

“But you said she knows, so -?”

Peter groaned, resisting the urge to plant his face in his plate of untouched spaghetti, the swirls of pasta not far off imitating the inside of his head at present. Never before in his life had his head felt more like all the soft, mushy, confusing foodstuffs he knew of. Confusing strings of pasta. Squished mush of scrambled egg. Something that had no logical patterning or organization to it.

In essence, Peter Parker’s brain had melted, so he was having a pretty rough time of it.

It had not helped that he’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep as his brain went all neon-lights and flashing colours, unable to rid his mind of her lips and the taste of cinnamon in his mouth and the lemony scent of her hair, and that ridiculous, vivid, _yellow_ dress that she’d insisted on wearing, making her look like a dream from a summer that could _only_ be dreamt up, too crazy for reality.

Michelle didn’t feel like a real person, even though she was the most alive and real and _tangible_ person he’d ever met.

“I think she does. That actually means nothing, Ned,”

“You don’t know that,”

“He doesn’t know what?”

Michelle’s voice snapped them from their conversation as she slid into the chair in front of them, _Our Mutual Friend_ still in hand, but _Frankenstein_ slapped down on the table in front of them, possibly as a safeguard should she finish Dickens by the end of the last period.

He’d never understood the attraction of reading about dead people being stitched together to become something straggling between human and something _other_ than human, but then again – if he asked her, she could probably tell him why, and then some.

She was invested like that.

Even in this moment, his brain was struggling not to short circuit again, watching as her lips pursed in confusion, brow furrowing. The purple streak in her hair was illuminated by the light coming through the canteen windows, the curls of the rest of her hair spiralling around her head like a crazy, untamed halo, but the smirk growing on her face was anything but angelic.

“Parker. _Earth to Parker_. Come join the sane,”

He snorted in amusement, just for a response. He could not be looking at her right now – not when his blood vessels couldn’t keep themselves in check, and stop him looking like an idiot. Ned tried to stifle laughter along with him, but not for the same reasons.

“So? What doesn’t he know?” Michelle asked, grabbing his abandoned fork and twirling some of his lunch around the prongs, scoffing it before he could say anything. He scowled back at her, but she just barked out in laughter, biting her lip with her top teeth as she stared right back at him, daring him to challenge her.

“Nothing,” Ned chirped, smiling innocently. She shrugged in response, generally looking unconcerned. This was freaking him out a little – Michelle was never one to just let things pass.

“Whatever. You up for a last check-over the essay tonight, Parker?” She turned to him again, tilting her head a little. Her hair was back in its ponytail, long-sleeved white t-shirt showing her slender arms and frame, her olive green cardigan tied around her waist, partnered with a long black skirt that still looked kind of odd on the cusp of summer. Peter didn’t mind so much – she made the rules with her own wardrobe, and that was that. 

 _Such determination_.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Seven OK?” It was the first time for him to make the suggestion in what had been their weekly meetups for the project. It had nearly gone out of his head, with all the crazy things going on – namely Michelle Jones and her decidedly badly-timed kisses – but he felt in the perfect headspace for am essay right now. Anything to distract him. 

She nodded once, dipping her head back into her book with a casual indifference. He didn’t miss the tiniest of smiles that graced her face, making her dark eyes glitter a little, even with her gaze dipped away from him.

“Sure thing, Parker.”

She didn’t speak after that.

One thing he was sure of was that his spaghetti did not get the attention it deserved.

It was all focussed on her instead.

˟               ˟               ˟

The walk to Peter’s flat felt like a promise she wished she hadn’t kept.

She was making her way there again, alone, because of course he’d swung off the minute the bell had rung to signal last period. His not so subtle rush to the stairs, to get out the doors as quickly as he could, had been too much of a giveaway for her. He always made it look like he was in a desperate need to go to the bathroom, but then again – he had never been one to be subtle anyways.

She’d finally finished the last chapter of Our Mutual Friend, stuffing it in her bag as she had opened Frankenstein, just as the last bell rang. It’d been frustrating. As much as Michelle had taught herself to walk in a straight line and read at the same time, it wasn’t an advisable talent to put into practice on a busy Thursday afternoon, and crossing the road without looking was too dangerous to even contemplate.

She’d read Frankenstein many times before – it was one of her favourites. But the story wasn’t as horrific in the sense of ghoulish mystery and a ravenous monster whose only mission was to kill everything. People often confused it with the films.

Frankenstein was sad. It was a sad book from a sad place. It was about losing something and wanting to get it back. It was about trying to find a place in the world that didn’t want to give you one. It was about being different in an age were being so was a crime.

She identified a lot with the themes, if she was saying anything about it.

Buzzing herself in, she made her way to the Parkers' flat, May greeting her with warmth that she’d become grateful for. She dearly hoped Peter appreciated the full scale of how amazing his guardian was.

She dumped her bags in his room, pulling her essay out, taking a seat on the bed, legs crossed over. She knew in her heart of hearts that she’d come way too early – they’d agreed on seven, not five, but she had decided much too quickly that they needed to talk. About everything.

About last night. About him. About _them_.

About where she fitted into this entire mess that was his life – about where she fell with him.

About what she meant to him.

About what he meant to _her_. 

She’d spent the majority of her life closing herself off, content to be emotionless if it meant that she could avoid being fussed over, and rejected, and suffocated by people who tried too hard to be your friend, when it wasn’t friendship they were after. Michelle had grown tired of having to be alone by her own volition. She’d found that place with Peter and Ned, and with the Decathlon team, and she was tired of pretending that she didn’t want it.

She’d told the whole team that they should call her MJ.

That had been a moment in her life that had changed her whole perspective on how she should be with others. It didn’t immediately make her want to hug everybody and become friends – but it had made her realize that people like her existed, and wanted to _be_ with people like her just as much.

People like Peter and Ned – they didn’t fit in where they weren’t wanted. They stayed with each other, and had extended a hand to her in offer of joining them in their comfortable, solitary existence in Midtown.

It had taken a while – man, it had taken _ages_ – but she’d accepted. She’d sidled up with them and begun some journey with her arms around their shoulders, traversing all her previous notions of friendship, and instead walking with her boys into what she liked to call the future.

Michelle was at a stage in her life were Peter Parker and Ned Leeds were the two most important boys on the planet for her.

She dumped the essay on his bed, standing up and stretching. There was no way she could concentrate on this without it being a total failure. She knew it was fine – she knew the essay was _fine_. Every line and counterargument had been thoroughly thought through, as she’d drilled Peter into paying attention every time his mind wandered to the kitchen for something else to eat. They’d debated, and scribbled, and made every possible argument known on the page, debating to the point where they’d covered every angle they could think of. They’d ended up with a strange answer:

Both sides were right.

It had gone a little weird in the middle – more an argument about the Accords than anything else – but they’d agreed that neither man was wholly right. Both had their points, both had their mistakes, but both knew what they wanted.

And that’s what made them heroes.

They’d concluded that heroes shouldn’t follow other people’s agendas. But they also had to protect the places and lives of the people they had sworn to keep safe. It was a double edged sword if ever there was one.

But the main conclusion had been this:

Heroes were selfless. They helped others. It wasn’t a complicated issue by that run of things. 

Amongst all the politics and destruction and human rights debates and every stupid little thing that sent the media into a frenzy, heroes were _honest_.

They were good. They were human, and they made mistakes, and sometimes let their emotions cloud their judgement and made the wrong decisions that cost things that ought not to have a price.

But they couldn’t be hounded for that. They dealt with things on a totally different base from everyone else.

Yes, Peter and Michelle felt that the Accords were a good idea. They felt, indefinitely, that superheroes had a responsibility for what happened, even if the freaky stuff they dealt with didn’t much care what happened to them.

But they believed in a freedom for their actions. They believed in them being allowed to be a good force in the world.

They believed in them being a symbol of retaliation for the forces that wanted to harm the people they had sworn to protect.

They wanted them to be allowed to be _good_.

It was a complicated argument, for sure. Michelle had known this the whole time. She’d often wondered what Peter had thought, sitting with her as he fervently tried to explain his side of the argument. He was _Spider-Man_. Surely he had his qualms about being kept under watchful eye?

Apparently he did. He wasn’t as blind about Tony Stark’s actions as she’d thought. He admired him and supported him, but he didn’t follow him. Not all the time. He made decisions for himself.

She kind of loved him for that.

As she paced the room, turning these thoughts over in her head, she bent down to untie her boots, knowing full well that they were too restricting if she was going to sit in Peter’s comfy room for the next few hours.

Except the sound of the window opening made her freeze.

She turned just in time to see Peter – or rather, Spider-Man – climbing in through the window, limbs nimble as he clambered onto the ceiling, clearly not having noticed her in the room.

Michelle made the decision quicker than she thought it.

She dived for the bed, sitting on the floor in front of it, watching as he leapt to the floor, hands spread on the wooden floor, pulling the mask off in one swift motion. It was weird to watch him when he didn’t know she was there – there was a tranquillity to his face, an honest approach to his walk that made him seem far more confident than he did at school. It was a lazy gait, in stark contrast to his bumbling walk when he tried to push through the packed corridors in school.

But it was weird, more than anything.

To suddenly see Peter Parker as Spider-Man – to see him in the suit, but see him as he was in real life, the suit sculpted to fit and his hair obviously tousled from the mask –

It made it all hit her so quickly. It clicked in that instant.

_My best friend is a superhero. There it is – right in front of me, right now._

He flung the mask behind him, narrowly missing her head as it landed on the floor at her feet.

“May? You home?” he called through the open door.

No reply.

“Nope. But I am,”

Peter’s frame went rigid, whipping around so quickly that she feared he might snap his spinal cord with the force. His eyes widened like saucers, jumping to slam the door shut as his whole body went into meltdown.

“What the ever living _fuck_ , Michelle?!”

It was the first time she’d heard him swear like that, and it was honestly, ridiculously funny. He said it like he hated having to be so rude, which actually suited him down to the ground, considering that he usually spoke like a gentleman from the 1900’s.

“Sup,” she replied, smirking just a little in retaliation.

Peter did not look amused.

“What are you doing here?!” His voice was serious, panicked, and all forms of worried, grabbing fistfuls of his messy hair in sheer terror.

“You invited me over, Loser,”

“At seven! I said seven!”

Michelle shrugged, crossing her legs as she shifted on the floor. Wooden floorboards were not comfortable to sit on, that was for sure.

“Whatever, Parker. I’m here now,”

Peter nearly shrieked in frustration.

“But you shouldn’t be! You shouldn’t be -!” His voice abruptly cut off, as he took a deep breath, trying to calm his raging nerves. He was still in the suit, and as he stretched his arms around his head, trying to calm down, she could see the subtle hints of his slim-line figure, toned to perfection.

She swallowed carefully. This was not about anything other than where their relationship stood. That and the essay.

“I can’t believe this is happening – _again_ ,” he sighed dramatically, pacing about in front of his door, mind going at one hundred miles an hour, not sure what to say or think or do or _feel_.

He had an inkling she knew – there was something in that kiss that made him think she knew before she’d ever say it to his face – but what if -?

“Chill, Parker, I’ve known for ages,”

Peter stared at her, mouth agape as he tried to understand what she was saying. Ages? What, like -?

“ _What_?!” he nearly squeaked out in surprise, his eyes wide and voice wavering, the terror practically making a home on his face. Michelle continued to sit on, comfortable enough to let him act out the whole situation for as long as he pleased.

Michelle grinned, tilting her head to the side in mock glee. Although, this was rather funny – in a sadistic, pay-back way that she knew he would hate her for, for the rest of his life. But it was a small price to pay.

“Nah, I didn’t. I just thought you were acting super weird, like usual, loser. And then – well, I figured it out. Sometime last week -”

“But how?!” he squawked, waving his hands about. It reminded her of the one of the first times she’d seen him – at the table with Ned, excitedly talking about the internship he’d gotten. He waved his hands about all the time when he spoke, as if it would somehow iterate the point better, but it had become an integral part of his character. Michelle had become so – _aware_ of him, like she’d known him her entire life. It was like seeing someone for the first time.

She _knew_ Peter Parker. She knew him very well.

Her frown took a hold of her face, making him pause in his rant, staring at her in such a way that made her feel suitably uncomfortable.

He was not messing about here. He wanted the answers – sharpish.

“Did you not believe me when I said I recognized your voice?”

His breathy laugh was sarcastic in all manner of speaking.

“ _No_ , I _didn’t_ ,”

“Well, that’s how I figured it out, Parker.” She paused. “Well, not at first. I just thought you got on like someone I knew. And then I started actually paying attention.”

He breathed in deeply, eyebrows raising in annoyance.

“And then I found your dumbass hoodie in the closet and then I just knew. You’re lazy af, Parker. Seriously. It was like following crumbs in Hansel and Gretel,”

He groaned, wiping his hands over his face, turning around in frustration. Michelle frowned again, trying to read his body language.

This was seriously cutting him up. But why -?

Michelle’s mind cleared, realizing what he’d been planning to do.

“You wanted to tell me,” she whispered, making him look over his shoulder, his face falling at the sight of her expression. She looked – well, he wasn’t sure how to describe it, because Michelle had never worn an expression even remotely similar to the one she had on right now.

It was clear. No furrowed brow, no tilted chin, no smug smirk on her lips.

She just gazed up at him, still on the floor, her eyes clear and her lips a little parted, gaze searching his face for some recognition – some _sign_ – that she’d even cut in close to the truth.

Peter looked at the floor.

“Well – yeah, I guess I did.”

“Does Ned know?” It was a simple question, but it still felt like a confession. What exactly he was confessing, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t with the words that he’d thought he’d use.

“Yeah. He was the first to find out,”

“Huh,”

Silence ensued. Peter could feel the tension hanging in the air, taking one last glance at Michelle on the floor, her chin ducked into her now raised knees, staring at the floor as she traced a circle on the wood with her index finger. It was a sight he couldn’t understand – Michelle, usually so proud and so sharp, had suddenly become some shell of herself, the air empty without her candid voice.

“I’m – can I get changed?” he asked quietly, the afternoon sunshine casting long beams of light across his floor, catching the edge of her hand on the floor, making it glow bronze whilst she stayed in the shadow of the bed. It made her look like she was too scared to step into the light, for fear that her expression was too raw and vulnerable and bare than she could afford to deal with.

“Sure – whatever,”

She got up, passing him in the room as she stood in front of the door, back turned as she heard him rustling around behind her, the suit spilling onto the ground. Michelle bit her lip, wiping at her eyes – something was pricking at the back, but she didn’t have time to accept what it was. It wasn’t fair on him.

He couldn’t have known that she’d liked him long enough to come to understand him like a map.

She didn’t want Peter to start avoiding her for that.

Was he angry at her, but too polite to say it? Did he care either way?

Had she been too much of herself for him to accept how quickly she’d pasted his identity onto the masked vigilante?

Quite possibly.

She let out a deep sigh, turning her head just a little, to see the light from the window. Up this high, the golden rays of the sun felt like she was suspended in the air, staying in the exact place so that she ought not to fear falling. That was what it felt like in her own apartment – the height able to suspend reality when you looked out the window, but not down. She could always imagine, just for a moment, that she was alone in the sky, surrounded by her pale yellow walls and books, and forget – just for another moment again – that she could make the world wait for her instead.

“Wait,” she said into the silence, and the rustling obligingly stopped. She turned around, smoothing her hand down her sleeve, not sure what to expect.

Peter stood there, his chest still bare, a pair of raggedy jeans on his legs, barefoot, hair tousled. It was something she'd never thought she’d ever see, completely against everything she’d learned about him. His face was too raw for her to look at directly – a face open and innocent but somehow still guarded.

She bit her lip, taking the chance.

She looked him squarely in the eye, making him flinch just a little bit in return.

One glance at his chest and she could see that what had been going on made him a boy she no longer knew.

He was toned – beautifully so, like a lean, Roman statue made to inspire poems and soliloquys – but it seemed to be marked, the smooth, lightly tanned skin riddled with fresh bruises and old scars, somehow casting some maturity onto his shoulders.

It made her want to say something she had vowed to never say to him.

“What the hell happened, Parker?”

This was not the Peter Parker she remembered from school.

This was Peter Parker, a boy no longer as such – more like a young man waging a war against the world that dared to keep him confined from helping people. This was Peter Parker, determined and resolved and hurt and scarred for what he did. The idiot boy was fifteen, sixteen in August, and it made her want to just stop and consider for a moment what made someone so young decide to be so hopelessly reckless, if it meant others would be safe for it.

It made her question what it was that made him _who_ he was.

It made her wonder how long ago this boy had swallowed her very soul, making her wish too much and too often about being with him for as long as she could be allowed.

His expression seemed to crumble almost instantly, collapsing onto the edge of his bed in exhaustion, hands linked around the back of his neck as he hung his head.

Michelle couldn’t take seeing him like this. He looked too old to be the age he actually was.

Where was his youth? Where had it gone?

“MJ, I – I’m sorry,”

Michelle started, looking down at him on the bed. He looked up, clasping his hands in front of him. She tried desperately to concentrate on his face rather than his bare skin and wickedly unkempt hair, and nearly succeeded.

Michelle didn’t have a chance to reply, as Peter cut in again.

“This whole – _thing_ that’s been going on with me, it’s – it’s the craziest thing to ever happen to me. I mean – I’m just a kid with superpowers. That’s not gonna change, MJ, but – it’s different when I have to decide how to be _that_ guy as well as Peter Parker. Ned found out by accident – and then May found out too. But I was planning on _telling_ you, properly – just to be a good friend. You and Ned are everything I have in school, so – I just wanted you to know. Just  - when I was ready,”

He looked up at her earnestly, squeezing his hands together. Michelle took a tentative seat in his chair, curling her legs up under herself. She put an elbow on one of the arm rests, looking at him carefully. He looked right back, eyes dark with the shadows and contrasting light. The room felt small, and intimate. Something unnatural and quiet and –

And _new_.

“How’d you get the powers?”

Obvious question. They seemed to be moving back into a more comfortable space, but it wasn’t easy. Peter shifted on the bed, running a hand through his hair.

“Uh, I got bitten. There was a spider, like – do you remember that school trip to the OsCorp convention we went to?”

Michelle nodded absently.

“With the Recombinator thing? That was super weird stuff going on in that place,”

“Yeah, well – the spider bit me. On my hand. It was crazy. I thought I was dying. It was there –” he gestured the side of his hand, in the crook between his thumb and index finger, the tendons and long fingers strong but nimble; for a moment, she wished she had her sketchbook with her, just to mark down all the shapes of his body. She leaned in, able to discern a faint double puncture wound in the skin.

“It never healed up, but I was sick for like, a week. The world wouldn’t stop spinning. I was vomiting, my head was light, I couldn’t see anything. I thought I was going blind at one point.” He looked a little haunted by the whole ordeal, his eyes staring blankly forward as he subconsciously rubbed the skin of the bite.

“It was radioactive, apparently. Some kind of experiments they were doing. But the pain? It was – it was _insane_. It felt like every cell was on fire. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe properly. I – I actually thought I was gonna die,” he turned his gaze right to her, blinking slowly.

“I suppose you think that’s pretty lame, right?”

Michelle shrugged casually in return.

“Dunno. I’ve had some serious cramps in the past,”

“Oh my God,” he sighed, smiling a little. “Don’t ever tell me that again,”

Michelle just shrugged again, waiting earnestly for him to resume.

“But – yeah. It just  - _went away_. I woke up and suddenly – no pain. No nothing. Everything had just – _stopped_. But I could see. Like – I didn’t need my glasses, and then _this_ –” he gestured to his body, letting out a heavy sigh. “This just came out of _nowhere_. But then I realized that the whole climbing walls thing was pretty legit, and not some dream. And then –”

“Spider-Man,” Michelle interrupted, making him raise his eyebrows briefly in agreement.

“Huh. I thought you’d taken some wack drugs or something,” She mused.

“What? _No_ ,” he laughed, but it sounded strained. Michelle smiled – just a little – at him, and he smiled back.

“But then the whole thing with the Vulture – I dunno. I just wanted to be out there, doing my thing. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t a kid, so I went after him. Found the weapons, tracked him down –”

“That’s why you ditched Liz at Homecoming,” It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t make him cringe in shame any less.

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t have my suit though. Mr Stark told me I didn’t deserve it if I couldn’t be anything without it. I didn’t care – I just – I just wanted him to _see_ that I was capable of the job. That I could do it without having to be looked out for like some kid in kindergarten, you know? I dunno, I just –” He waved his hand dismissively.

Peter let out another long sigh, hands once again clasped in front of him. Michelle watched as the muscles of his back clenched, the tension evident in his frame. Whatever was coming next was clearly a weight he had been carrying on his young shoulders for a long time. He looked broken and fixed, and hurt but still fighting. He looked too young, and much too old for his age.

Michelle waited.

He bit his lip in thought, staring at one corner of the door as he let his hands run through his hair as he tried to speak.

“I followed him,” he said, finally, a pained but resolute expression on his face. “I tried to confront him – I tried, MJ, I really did. But he just –”

He breathed in carefully.

Michelle continued to wait.

“He dropped a parking garage on me,”

Michelle’s whole body went stiff, her blood running cold in her veins. His face – oh _God_ , his _face_ –

The pain, the terror – that haunted look in his dark, usually warm eyes made her freeze. Peter looked pale at the thought, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he tried to find a way to say the words.

“He _what_?”

“He drop – he dropped a parking garage on me,” His words had gotten stuck in his throat, but he seemed determined to carry on.

“It just fell on top of me, and it was heavy – it was so _fucking_ heavy and it was crushing my back and no one was there and I didn’t even have the suit and I just – I had to push it up off of me because no one else could!” His voice had become fervent, almost panicked as he tried to convey the fear.

It was consuming his face – the way he furiously nibbled his lip, the nerve in his eye, the slow, deliberate breaths he was taking, chest rising and falling in jerky motions -ragged and unsure of how to function properly.

“I can’t – it’s not – MJ, I _can’t_ ,” He looked up at her imploringly, pressing his fingers to his lips in a prayer, hands pointing upwards, a very faint glaze in his eyes that suggested it was still as vivid a memory as it sounded. Michelle bit her lip along with him. He stared back, and stared, blinking once, one solitary tear sliding down his face.

He wiped it away with his thumb, breathing out again, like he’d been holding his breath underwater for too long.

“I can’t keep _doing_ this. Keeping secrets, and pretending it’s all fine cause it’s _not_. It’s not _fine_. I wanted to tell you but you – you could’ve been _hurt_ and I can’t – I _can’t_ put you in that danger. I try to keep Ned out of it and May as well, because if I lose either of them I’ll just collapse. I’ll just –” His head dipped again, hair falling into his face.

Michelle watched on in anguish, not sure what to say. This boy – this precious boy was trying too hard to be everything; to be everything to everybody and trying to be so many things at once and it was –

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, head still turned to the floor, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

She watched him breathe, taking each breath with care, as if he couldn’t bare to think of taking one breath too quickly, for fear his whole ribcage would collapse in on itself, too afraid to think of what might happen.

For weeks, and months before, he’d been such a carefree, open guy – always smiling, and laughing. Nervous and awkward and a little unsure around her, but still happy. Still loved and comfortable where he was in life.

Had it all been a façade?

Michelle thought, pausing.

 _No_.

It was just this. Just not being able to control things. One little thing and he’d begun to remember all the things he’d tried to forget.

Michelle breathed out, getting up from the chair, coming to stand in front of him. She put out a hand to brush his hair away, but retracted it before she could.

It was too much. Seeing him like this. With his bare skin bruised and cut, every lingering scar on his skin a stinging reminder of the fact that he was still breakable, and still alive, and still human. That his life could be ripped away from him before he’d even know what had happened, and it made something in her chest constrict, something too painful to recommend feeling.

She didn’t recommend falling in love. Not at all.

She continued to stand in front of him until he looked back up at her, face placid once again, although that calm look was strained. She could still see the track of that one tear, having left a faint streak on his face. His hair was a mess – in need of a wash, really, and one day off being a total mess. The curls had gone wild, mussed from his nervous hands.

“MJ?” he asked, careful with her name. She frowned, but she didn’t reply.

He watched her – watched her eyes, how they blinked slowly – and saw something change in them. From calm to somehow – _sad_ , like she was sharing his pain with him.

And then, she was stepping forward, dipping down to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him into her – _close_ to her – one hand finding his head and stroking his hair. He sat still for a moment, tempted to ask her if she was OK, because he certainly wasn’t –

But he didn’t.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, her flyaway curls tickling his neck.

He sighed.

He tried to comprehend it – how her hands smoothed over the warm skin of his back, how she stroked his hair with a care unlike herself, how her knee dug into the side of his jean-clad thigh as she half-sat on the bed beside him.

But he didn’t.

He found his arms coming up around her, finding her frame slender but somehow small, holding her like a fragile piece of china he couldn’t imagine for a second being allowed to hold, but he did anyway.

Michelle couldn’t understand it. She could sense his stress, his heartache – yet in his arms, holding her to him with a gentle strength that she couldn’t comprehend him having – she somehow knew that he was OK, even if he didn’t look it. Even if he didn’t sound like it.

Even if she knew, somewhere inside him, he would never be truly right again.

It was this: a moment held out over the roof of the highest building, suspended in time like it had never meant to exist in it.

It was this: a heart shared in pain between the two of them, too much of a confession even without the words, that made them both too aware of the other.

It was this:

It was Michelle Jones realizing that Peter Parker had only been, and could only ever be, the boy she could have fallen for.

He sank back against the wall by which the bed was backed up against, his strong arms still holding her to him, the warmth of his skin against hers, Michelle able to feel the steady thrum of his heart through the fabric of her t-shirt, strong and sure. She hadn’t realized –

She hadn’t realized how _fierce_  he could be – passionate, and loyal, and ardent in everything he said and did.

His hand found itself tangled in her hair, Michelle sitting beside him as he lay back, holding her and holding her and holding her, just as she felt his face press into her shoulder and heard his breathing become ragged, the tears now coming.

They were long overdue, she thought. Much too long.

His sobs were muffled against her t-shirt, as he gripped onto her, breathing in deeply as he tried to let them pass unnoticed.

Michelle continued to hold him.

This was Peter Parker, right here: his smooth skin, and soft hair, and strong embrace, and breakable, fragile heart, too used to loving with everything he had.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there for – certainly not for a short while.

It was unusual, for her, to say the least. She’d never held anyone this long before.

But he needed it, and that was all.

When he finally extracted himself from her arms, his eyes had cleared, the skin more or less back to normal around his eyes, his sobs long since ceased. He looked up at her as she kneeled in front of him, looking slightly unsure of herself.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She nodded in reply.

Edging towards the front of the bed, they sat beside each other in companionable silence, Peter still hunched over, his back in full view. She studied his skin, tracing the lines of the scars with her eyes.

They all seemed so ugly. Barely there – faint like a memory you couldn’t recall – but they seemed stark in the contrasting light, the clock showing half six. Michelle sighed to herself, turning to him.

“Will they heal up, d’you think?”

His head turned to look at her, one hand reaching up to brush away his hair.

“Maybe. Mostly they do – accelerated healing and all,”

“I can tell,” she said, motioning to his eyes. He smiled slightly, looking out into his room.

Michelle joined suit.

They sat in silence for a little more, watching the light stretch and contract as the sun shifted across the sky outside his window, this little box of a place able to feel like it was the only place in the world. It seemed at peace with itself – that soft gold and the dark bronze falling across his floor, tinting his skin to a soft tan, showing the freckles on his shoulder blades and the auburn in his hair.

Michelle tried to contain herself.

It wasn’t right – he was upset.

She breathed out, crossing her legs on his bedsheets.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” she said plainly, avoiding his gaze, even though she could see him staring at her from the corner of her eye. She brushed away her curls, playing with the cuffs of her olive green cardigan, still diligently wrapped around her waist.

“Don’t be,” he replied, voice plaintive, but when she looked to him, his expression was sincere, eyes gazing across the plains of her face with a practiced accuracy that she felt was too much like she was under scrutiny.

She made to change the subject.

“How’d you get each one?” She motioned to his back.

He blinked once or twice.

“Oh, um –” He hesitated, picking out the one on his shoulder blade.

“That was from today – the guy hit me across the shoulder as I flipped over,”

“Idiot,” Michelle smirked, making him smile in turn.

“Him or me?” He snorted.

“Take a wild guess, Parker,”

He laughed by intake of breath, looking for another one. He jerked a thumb to his back.

“There’s one back there – on my left, I think? – from the Vulture,”

Michelle peered round the back, dutifully but unsuccessfully ignoring the taught muscles in his shoulders, stretching and bunching as he moved. She hadn’t realized he was so well shaped.

_Focus._

She saw it instantly – a long, white line across his back, starting at his left shoulder blade. It looked like his back had been torn by a claw.

“How’d he do that?”

“His claw thingys,” he clarified, making a gripping motion. Michelle nodded in understanding.

He went through the several other fresh bruises, pointing at them carefully, face screwing up as he tried to remember their exact origin. Michelle was at least glad that he wasn’t crying anymore – it had been too much of a raw emotion to see in him to fully comprehend it.

He finally pointed to one on his chest – a long, thin line, sweeping under his collarbone.

“That was from – that was from the Vulture too, I think. When he pushed me into the ground. I wasn’t all that well protected,”

Michelle huffed out a breath, reaching out a hand to turn him slightly, so she could see it better.

He looked straight at her, her hand on his shoulder, barely.

She stared right back.

He looked like he was going to say something, but he leaned a little closer, taking a fleeting glance at her mouth.

Michelle leaned away, shaking her head.

“Not now, OK?”

His gaze flickered past hurt, but it soon disappeared, replaced with understanding.

“Sure – uh, sorry,” he muttered, grabbing a t-shirt as he pulled away, hauling it on over his head.

Michelle lamented the loss of his bare skin, but she said nothing.

Peter coughed.

Michelle stood up, grabbing her abandoned essay from the floor, waving it in his face as he searched for a pen.

“Ready to complete our thesis, Loser?”

He smiled up at her, brushing away his hair.

She wished, in some brief, unattainable moment, that she _had_ let him kiss her – just like he had been - when he'd been bared and open, and painfully romantic.

He nodded, smirking a little himself.

“Yeah, of course, MJ. That’s why you came here, right?”

 

They both avoided answering the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that will keep you all going until the last chapter is posted! 
> 
> Reviews and kudos are always appreciated, folks.


	11. The Definition of a Superhero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - here we are. The final chapter of this story, having come a lot quicker than I ever thought it would. 
> 
> This story has received the most amazing response, and I am so grateful to every single person who logged in, clicked the title and read each chapter as it came. There are all kinds of commitment and staying with a story, when you have no idea when it will be updated, is a commitment that should not be overlooked. 
> 
> Recommendations for this chapter are Shark by Oh Wonder and Cough Syrup by Young the Giant for the major bit between Peter and MJ; also Just Say Yes by Snow Patrol, I'm Yours by Alessia Cara, I Want You by Savage Garden, Friday I'm in Love by The Cure and Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols for the ending, around abouts. The sound really signals the end, I think. Also, it's a great song, so there's that as well. 
> 
> Even as the curtains close on the The Double Life of Peter Parker, I do have some news that I've decided to unveil. 
> 
> There will be a sequel to this, titled 'To Catch a Spider'. Whilst I won't give away too much (in true Marvel style), I will say that it will continue to expand on the relationship between Peter and MJ, as well as introduce new characters, and of course, reveal some secrets about already established ones. 
> 
> Cindy Moon is one of those characters. 
> 
> Hopefully you'll look forward to that. 
> 
> Anyways - thank you for sticking with me on this journey! I'll see you in the sequel.

School called in on the Friday the day after, and going home, after her time with Peter, had left Michelle with enough questions to keep her occupied for the rest of her life. It had been a strange encounter – certainly not how she’d envisioned it when she’d went there in the first place.  

But he’d bared his very soul to her, and few would come away from something so intimate without wondering a few things.

She was only slightly annoyed at herself that she’d not managed to ask him where they stood. Things had escalated so quickly – and seeing Peter Parker in tears, the scars on his skin still seeming as fresh as the days he’d got them – made her always hate herself for being just that little bit selfish.

Maybe it didn’t matter. That moment – that moment they’d suspended over that roof edge – had been something else entirely. He’d held her like a dying rose, wilting in his arms, too afraid to see the red of its petals shy away as it withered away. He’d been so afraid of so many things, and losing her had been one of them.

He’d held her like he was going to lose her.

And maybe that had broken something in her.

Maybe it had finally penetrated her heart and made her realize –

She could no longer be cold in the wake of him.

Her heart felt like it had been thawed by the sun, at last allowed to know what it felt like to be warm.

It was sending her sideways a little, especially considering that she had gone from a life spent mostly in her own company, to suddenly being surrounded by people who wanted to be a part of her life, _with her_.

But –

She appreciated it. She was grateful for that kind of honest, genuine care. 

It felt like she’d been wrapped up in someone's arms, at last allowed to feel wanted without guilt, or genuinely at ease with people without wondering how much they actually cared about her.

Slipping into her seat in English had taken a lot of effort, as she watched Peter come into the classroom not long after, making her knees almost buckle from seeing him.

He looked completely removed from the broken boy she’d seen yesterday, but he seemed a little more aware of her than he ever had done.

Most of all, though – he’d worn the leather jacket to school.

It was a shock to see him in much the same outfit as he had worn at the party, hair styled and swept over, jeans and modest t-shirt and plaid shirt on his back. But he’d worn the jacket.

It sent a whole wave of heat to her cheeks, the blood rush – or _blush_ , as it had come to be abbreviated as – making her cheeks bloom like newly sprung cherry blossom.

Peter chose that moment to look up at her, his eyes casting themselves over her outfit.

Her long, black cardigan and black jeans, but a bright yellow t-shirt, loose around her figure like a silk top, with the words ‘Hello! I don’t care’ emblazoned across the front in a white speech bubble, matching the very slight smirk on her lips, tainted in a shimmery, barely-there gold that made her eyes glint with mischief.

He smirked back.

 _I like your t-shirt_ , his lips said.

He watched her blush darken, narrowing her eyes to try and dampen the affect, but it didn’t work.

Heck, after everything that had happened, he just wanted to kiss her to death.

Sliding into his own seat, he shucked the jacket, glad for once that May had allowed him to keep it. It had been Ben’s, she’d told him. One of the first things he’d worn when they went out for the first time. She’d barely touched the clothes after his death, but something in her gaze had changed the minute she’d draped it on his shoulders, as she’d tried to find him something to wear for the party.

“You look like him, would you believe?” she’d said, pressing her fingers to her lips.

He’d asked if he could keep it. She’d said yes.

And yeah – maybe he’d put it on, on a whim today.

But maybe he had something important to ask.

Who knew.

“So, class,” Mr Richards had finally entered the classroom, books nearly tumbling over in his arms as he lumped them down on the desk, looking a little out of breath and relieved to be rid of the weight. He turned towards them, coming to the front of his desk, leaning back against the wood with a casual appearance, arms folded and eyebrow quirked.

“Your essays were due today, and yes – I’ll be picking them up, regardless of whether you’re happy with them or not.” He shot a pointed glance at Flash, who seemed a little flustered by the attention. It wasn’t a new fact that Flash was too much of a perfectionist to stand waiting around for.

“However, I want to get your view before I read them. Call it natural curiosity,”

Michelle snorted quietly, glancing back at her page in Beauty and the Beast – the original novel of 1740, as written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, and by no means a short read. She’d always been captivated by the story – Disney or not – but there was no doubting that it yielded a message that she’d always aspired to follow.

To be kind in person, and find yourself to be kind in love.

Maybe she was, in some way, on her way down that path now.

One thing she did know was that Mr Richards had not asked out of ‘natural curiosity’. He was too shrewd for that.

He wanted to see if anyone had understood what the assignment had  _truly_  been about.

How did superheroes fit into the world they were in? With so many people aware of enhanced human beings, and the Avengers, and Gods from another universe, it was sometimes hard to define exactly what _made_ a hero. The Avengers were vigilantes, but were they heroes? Did the Accords get in the way of their jobs as _potential_ heroes?

Could heroism be defined by simple, good acts of human decency?

Michelle and Peter had debated every single one of those angles. She knew all too well what they’d agreed on and written down.

But for the first time in her life, Michelle didn’t feel content with the page alone.

It was a small notion at first, but her hand soon found itself in the air.

Mr Richards raised an eyebrow.

“Michelle,” He waved a hand, leaving the floor open to her. She lowered her hand, taking a glance towards Peter and Ned. Ned was smiling silently, nodding once in encouragement. Peter’s face was open and calm, but there was a slight tension between his eyebrows. This had been _their_ project – and now, suddenly, she was in the world that he inhabited. The world that they'd debated over for nearly a whole week. 

She was walking with superheroes herself.

“Well, sir, if I’m frank about it-”

“Like you aren’t all the time,” Seymour called over, face radiantly humorous. Michelle scowled at him good-naturedly.

“Right, whatever, O’Reilly.” She turned back to Mr Richards, whose eyebrow was still raised in anticipation. She cleared her throat.

“Well, I guess you could say a hero is someone who chooses to be one out of their own volition. Someone who chooses to fight for others. To be selfless for others. To be there for people when others run away. I guess you could say they’re people you’d want as role models to your children. People you can trust. People that you admire.”

She looked right at Peter, whose expression was smiling - bashful with his dark eyes shining, cheeks a little flushed. Michelle glanced down at the table, tilting her head in agreement to herself.

She looked up again, her curls sweeping back over her shoulder as she tilted her chin, close-lipped smile radiant.

“I guess they’re people you love,” she stated it in a matter-of-fact way, but she knew it was just her own opinion. 

Didn't meant it wasn't true, though. That's one thing she was certain of. 

Mr Richards tipped his head in agreement, but even as he continued on, asking others their opinion, Michelle wasn’t listening.

She wasn’t listening when she handed in her paper.

She wasn’t listening when Mr Richards turned to the board, preparing to start work on the book, promising to grade their papers over the weekend.

She was looking at Peter Parker, who was looking right back at her.

˟               ˟               ˟

It was out in the corridor that Michelle, bag swinging against her leg and hair left loose, save for a rather badly tied cloth hairband twisted into the curls, in some semblance of order, felt her arm pulled by someone, bringing her into an alcove behind the lockers lining along the walls. It was lunch, and frankly, she’d wanted to spend some time alone with her thoughts. This week had drained her, and honestly, some time with Belle and her Beast in his lonely castle was what she needed to distract herself. There were too many thoughts banging around in her head, like saucepans being hit by wooden spoons by a psychotic five year old, and it was becoming a bit much. 

So much information to take in and process. Maybe she was just being over-the-top, but that's what it felt like. 

Just as she was about to slap the person around the face, for daring to even touch her without permission, she saw Peter Parker’s face gazing back at her. He had a little, coy smile on his face, like he couldn’t understand why she looked so annoyed, but found it funny anyway.

Michelle let her scowl drop, leaning back against the wall behind her, sliding down an inch or two to preserve her look of indifference. Peter looked down at her – probably for the first time in his life.

“Hey,” he said, looking down at the ground. 

“Hey,” she replied back, quirking a dark eyebrow. He laughed lightly, brushing a hand through his hair; his laugh sounded a little nervous.

“I was wondering,” he started, eyes wide and innocent. Michelle tried to remain blank, but it wasn’t working.

“Do you – do you wanna – come over? Today? After school?” His voice looked ready to break from the nerves, but she didn’t laugh.

She had not expected this.

She had not expected him to wear the jacket, and she had not expected him to do his hair like that (the way she liked it, even though he probably didn’t know that). She certainly hadn’t expected him to ask her anything, least of all that.

She swallowed carefully.

“To your place?”

He shrugged.

“Yeah, yeah, my place – I mean, if you want – because, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to! That’s totally fine! But we could – we could, you know –”

Michelle reached up, placing a finger on his lips, making him pause in his rambling. He looked at her with eyes like a doe, bright but confused, a curl of hair falling into his face at that exact moment.

She smiled wickedly.

“Whatever turns you on, Parker,”

The splutter that followed his comment was payment enough as she slid back up the wall, beginning to walk away, snapping open her book with a practiced ease.

“Mich – Michelle! It’s not – it’s not like that!”

“Keep an eye out, Parker. Maybe it will be – _if_ you’re lucky.”

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, watching her leave.

“No, it’s not! I didn’t mean it like _that_!”

Michelle’s shoulders dropped, head raising as she looked over her shoulder, her loose curls tumbling down her back as she swept away her side fringe again.

“Admit it, Parker. _You just hit the jackpot_ ,”

She swept off down the hall again, diving back into her fairy-tale.

Sometimes she felt like she was living in her own one.

˟               ˟               ˟

Walking back to his apartment together felt like waiting for a silence to break.

It had almost become a second home to her, in how often she’d found herself sitting in his chair, or lounging on his bed, debating their English essay. How often had she looked out the window to the same city she looked out at from her own bedroom?

Too many times, she thought – but this time, it was different.

This was a no strings attached visit. A visit purely for the _sake_ of visiting.

Like going out simply because you could. Diving into a river because it was a possibility. Jumping off a roof if you knew you would fly. 

It was something you just _did_.

And it was making her nervous.

She’d avoided the question yesterday – but she couldn’t avoid it now. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. It wouldn’t have mattered what she’d said or done in the situation standing before her, because the only questions that would come up now were the ones that had yet to be asked.

That’s why it felt like a silence waiting to be broken.

It could only be broken now.

Peter opened the door of his bedroom for her as she stepped in, pulling off her slip-on boots from the heel with her toes, tossing them into the corner as she dumped her bag on the floor. She went to window, turning her back, as she heard Peter dump his own bag on his chair, opening a drawer somewhere and pulling out a sweater, instead taking off the jacket and shirt and throwing them on the bed, pulling the sweater over his head.

OK. She lied. She was glancing behind her as he did it.

The sweater mussed his hair as he pulled it on, giving her a quick glimpse of his skin, the cuffs becoming paws on his hands, too long in the sleeve. It was a light grey – one she remembered him wearing before. She turned round to face him, taking a breath.

“So,” she said to him, but it wasn’t a question; more an invitation to ask the questions they knew they had to ask.

Peter sighed, glancing out the window as he came to stand beside her, bending down to lean against the sill, Michelle watching how the light breeze from the open window ruffled his hair, and made the room seem quieter, even though the city came with its own music.

“I dunno, MJ,”

Michelle snorted.

“You know we have to talk about it, whether you want to or not, Loser,”

He tilted his head round to look at her, a lazy expression on his face.

“Are we talking about the same thing?”

Michelle bit her lip. “No idea. You tell me,”

He didn’t.

He turned back to the cityscape, briefly closing his eyes as the breeze brushed against his skin. Everything felt so far away from up here. Like he could touch it without even trying. He knew in his heart that with the Spider-Man conversation out of the way, – the whole conversation that came with the discovery – there _was_ only one conversation left.

He just didn’t know if he could face it or not.

It still felt like a brand on his mind – every time he closed his eyes, the image seared onto his retinas.

The image of her standing, looking at him, in her bright yellow dress and not-so-perfunctory choice of DM boots, hair a crazy mess and lips a burnt orange, the lights drifting across her skin.

The sensation of her lips touching his own, leaving his brain to shut down and abandon him, with only his senses to guide him.

Her kiss, her hair, her mouth, her _everything_.

She’d been intoxicating him, blinding him, deafening him. Making him feel things he couldn’t understand, but regardless, wanted to feel.

“We kissed. _That’s_ the conversation we should be having, Parker,”

He sighed in response.

“Don’t sigh, it doesn’t help anything,” her tone was clipped. Looking back over his shoulder, the bronzed-by-sunlight city forgotten again. She was still nibbling her lip, but in a controlled, deliberate way that meant she was waiting for an answer.

“What do you need to know, MJ?”

She snorted again, but it wasn’t in laughter.

“What the hell is going on between us, Parker – that’s what I want to know –”

Peter blinked, standing up in concern.

“Michelle, what -?”

“What do I mean to you, Peter? What _am_ I to you?” Her voice had gotten a little anxious, desperation seeping into her tone as she looked right at him. He was still standing at exactly her height, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. Come next year, and she’d be towering over him again, and some part of him found that unbearably attractive.

Peter watched her face, arms folded as she pulled her cardigan around her again, folding her arms. He knew that this was her putting up the defensive again. She'd been so used to being rejected for being who she was - blunt but uncommonly truthful - and she wanted to know, in some shape or form, that he wasn't rejecting whatever she'd laid on the table. It was a painful thing, watching the past play across her face.

But he couldn't understand how she could ever think that he would do that. 

The light from the window was catching the faint gold on her lips; how she hadn’t been called out on that in school was a mystery to him.

Maybe he could solve all those mysteries for himself. And maybe reassure her in some measure. 

He reached up to brush away her stray curls from her face, hand lingering on her cheek. She stared at him, hands tightening on her arms.

“I –” He couldn’t understand how he was supposed to answer that.

His hand cupped her cheek, looking at her, eye to eye, irises dark and uncertain. His thumb smoothed over the skin under her eye.

She continued to stare at him.

He took another step forward, leaning forward to press his lips to hers, delicately with no hint of passion.

This was testing the waters.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against her own, looking her right in the eyes.

“Everything I need,” he whispered to her, making her smile so slightly, it was like she wasn’t smiling at all.

But he caught that smile, faint as it was, and leant in again, arm wrapping around her waist as he held her, kissing her again, this time a little more substantially than before.

This time she kissed him back.

Her hands came up to rest around his neck, smoothing the skin of his jawline with her fingers, as he tilted his head, still kissing her, pressing his lips into her own like he trying to leave a mark. She breathed into his mouth, making him gasp a little, just as he gently bit down on her lip, playful but still cautious. He was still pretty strong for such a little guy, she thought, but he somehow felt gentle as well. Like he was aware that this wasn’t something that required strength.

She suddenly burst into laughter, pulling back to look at him, only to see his own smile, laughing with her.

“Is that a yes, then?” he said, leaning his forehead against hers as he smiled, his lips tainted a little gold by her lipstick. 

Michelle looked down from his eyes, studying her hands on his neck, the fingers long and dark against his pale skin. She turned her gaze back up to him, watching his dark eyes, his hair mingling with her own.

“Maybe,” she said, biting her lip.

He raised an eyebrow.

Untangling himself from her, he took her hand and walked back, sitting down on the bed as he pulled her to sit with him, leaning back against the wall.

“Then teach me how to kiss you, Michelle. Tell me everything,”

It was probably the most romantic she’d ever heard him, and he looked suitably tongue tied doing it.

She took his face in her hands, smoothing the skin again. He looked up at her expectedly.

She reached down and kissed him again, hands finding themselves in his dark hair as his came up around her face, pulling her down to him so he could reach her better.

She lost track of time after that.

˟               ˟               ˟

So, as it was, it worked out pretty well for everyone.

As Peter swung about that evening, the dying light filtering through the streets, bouncing off the glass of the skyscrapers of New York, he’d never felt quite as content as he had done for a long time.

He had no idea how long he’d spent wrapped up in MJ, her hair falling round her as she kissed him, him kissing her back, leaving him more breathless than he'd ever felt, making his heart jump with every touch; making him gasp every time she ran her hands through his hair; making him smile every time she pulled back, glaring at him as if she was trying to discern if he was real or not. 

He'd managed to prove how real he was, in the end. 

He had no idea how she’d managed to decide he was for her, but to hell if he was ever going to complain about that.

He shot the next web, hurtling through the traffic as he waved at a group of teenagers having a night out, all dressed in their jeans and sneakers.

He wondered if him Ned and MJ would ever go and have a day out together.

He sincerely hoped so.

Anyways.

His life had changed so much since he'd started this whole thing, trying to juggle so much in his hands without keeling over. He wasn't sure how well he was handling it - double lives were never easy - but he guessed he must be doing alright, if Michelle and Ned were anything to go by. How he had managed to find such crazy, amazing people, and for them to decide to be his friends? Well. Let's just say he was counting his lucky stars. 

'Course, there was one thing he was particularly amazed by: 

Michelle Jones had officially become his girlfriend, partner in crime, best friend and, quite possibly, official member of Team Spider-Man, if Ned went ahead and made that a thing.

He leapt up onto the nearest roof, now pretty high up, the rest of the city spanning out before him, glinting in the evening light.

Ha.

Who would have imagined it?

Certainly not Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. 
> 
> Eleven chapters following the Spider-Guy and his crazy book-nerd. It's been a pleasure, folks. 
> 
> See you soon! :D


End file.
